“Of course not. I’m a mother. This is normal.” I blinked and shook my head, getting upset. He was suggesting something awful, something that wasn’t me. Did I have thoughts? Yes, but not those thoughts. My defenses kicked in along with a string of irrational thoughts spurred by his implications. I was normal, normal, normal, and I would keep repeating it until I was blue in the face or I believed it.
“Ms. Kennedy, it would be normal for a single mother as yourself to be feeling…” He trailed off but the implication was clear.
“And what is it that single mothers such as myself have thoughts of? I love my son, even if his father chose to not be a part of this.”
Didn’t everyone get knocked up by the hometown football hero and left like trash to be all alone with a baby?
No?
Just me then making shit decisions for my life.
“I’m merely suggesting…”
“Well maybe that’s your problem. Stop suggesting things and let me be discharged to go home. I don’t need to be here any longer.” I started to swing my weak legs over the side of the bed, and Doctor Eckert watched me under his pugnacious gaze. He didn’t bother hel
ping me when I wobbled to my feet and grabbed the railing to hold myself up. This too would pass.
“I’ll have the discharge papers prepared, but please consider reaching out to the counseling clinic if you need anything. Postpartum care is critical to well-baby health.” He finished his notes and left.
Bereft, I was truly alone.
Ethan made cooing sounds, lying in the middle of the bed. Caressing his cheek and too-cute fuzzy head, I had someone depending on me, and it scared me shitless.
16
Evan
After work I drove home for a quick shower and put on some regular clothes. Jeans, Henley, leather jacket, shoes that didn’t require thick socks for my boots. It felt good to not wear a duty belt even if I still carried my gun out of habit. Lost in thought on the drive toward the hospital, I nearly missed my phone ringing.
Sitting in the parking lot, I held up the phone. A pit of dread loomed in my gut because my dad called. He had this uncanny habit of finding things wrong with whatever I did. I stopped trying to please him long ago. I picked up the phone like I was ripping off a Band Aid and dialed him back. “Hey, Dad.”
“Evan.” His voice hadn’t lost a drop of that familiar criticism.
“What’s up?” My parents lived in town and Dad still ministered to his flock of sheep at the church on the corner of Main Street and Elm.
“Just checking in. I heard you had a heck of a call the other night.” Of course he did. It was in the paper. My mother called to congratulate me while my sister teased and my brother texted. Did my dad miss anything in this town? Only if I was lucky, and I was rarely lucky. It wasn’t that my family was over-the-top shitty or horrible. We were average. Everyone had their crosses to bear, mine ironically happened to be a father who was a preacher and devout religious fanatic.
He was the do as I say, not as I do type.
“Yes, I delivered a baby. That was a first.” It was also the one thing you wanted the least on one’s shift, but it happened, and strangely I didn’t mind nearly as much as I thought I might.
“And the mother? Baby?” he inquired. His interest was two-fold. A backhanded compliment with a zinger waiting to be delivered.
“Doing well. I’m at the hospital to visit with them.” I heard his audible pause of disapproval through the phone. He didn’t like my careless relationships with women and a single mother would really get his preacher robes in a bunch.
Oh—the irony.
Whereas good old dad took his devotion to marriage and family to the extreme, I took my philandering of the ladies in the same vein. The only difference was that I was honest in my dealings. Catching my father in a compromising position with the children’s Sunday school choir director as a ten-year-old had a lasting impact on my view of honoring thy relationships with any sincerity. But hey, wasn’t that what high-stress occupations and therapists were for? Working shit out.
“Extend my blessings to them. Maybe invite them to the Sunday services?” And there it was… The none too subtle way of giving an unsuspecting sheep some religion. “You know, you could show up sometime yourself. How do you think it looks when my children don’t attend services regularly?” Of course he’d mention Shelby and Brody.
“Yeah, I don’t think so, Dad.” I hadn’t been to a church service since I turned fourteen and started sneaking out to make out with girls from my religion class. Dad had been pissed when he found out, but what could he do? He knew I’d expose his secret if he exposed mine, and so we danced around the issue to this day in a strange and heavy effort to protect my mother from both our falls from grace. He’d focused his anger at Brody until he left and scared Shelby into thinking she needed to please everyone. Yeah, not on my watch, which was probably why I did everything I could to piss him off even at my own expense.
“It would be good for her to have a support network, and if being a parent is too taxing on a girl her age, there are families looking to adopt.” He hid behind the gospel along with our family failings. I wouldn’t let him get his claws into Remi.
She was going to be a damn fine mother. She wasn’t giving her up son, and he was overstepping his boundaries.
“She’s got this just fine, and has plenty of friends to help her if needed.” Most importantly, she had me as far as I was concerned. “You don’t need to worry about this.”