“It’s a gift for . . . someone.” Someone arriving in, say, nine months. Actually, the timing is more like seven or so, as a rough estimation puts me at six weeks along with a pregnancy calendar calculation of a December due date.
Bull continues to stare at me, forcing that smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Bull, about the other day—”
“Yeah,” he says, looking away from me and reaching behind his neck. “I just wanted to see if you were okay.” His head turns back to me, and his eyes scan my body. This isn’t the heated stares he gave me that night or even the desperate gaze of our bathroom tryst. This is a look full of concern, and guilt socks me in the stomach. Or maybe that’s the hunger rumbling. The doctor says eating at regular intervals will help settle the morning sickness.
“I’m better,” I tell him, grateful for his concern and comforted by his asking.
“Stomach bug or something?” he asks, still looking at me with all kinds of questions on his rugged face. Questions I can’t answer yet. I just need a minute, or a day, to wrap my head around what I’ve learned about myself and my future. The future I didn’t have a plan for has just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
I was going to be a mother at forty-two.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Hey, Bull, I found that part,” a man with a store uniform vest on addresses Bull from behind him. Bull glances over his shoulder and nods to acknowledge the man.
“Tractor part,” Bull says back to me and double pats the clothing rack where he placed his hand.
“Gotta fix the tractor,” I awkwardly say, “in order to milk the cows.”
“Tractors are for fields,” Bull says, still watching me, and I swipe loose curls over an ear.
“Right, well, go do farmer stuff,” I add, sounding even more like an idiot.
“Right,” Bull says. Taking a step back, he spins away from me and then circles back to face me after a few paces. “You know, if you need anything, like say food, we could get food together. To eat, that is. We could go to dinner. Or hang out.” He holds out a hand to emphasize his point, and his clumsy approach is endearing. My heart skips a beat. He’s awkward in the sweetest manner, but once he hits the bedroom, that awkwardness disappears, and a self-assured man takes over. My privates do a little dance of remembrance mixed with a sigh of regret that they’ll never experience him again. Under different circumstances, I’d totally take a chance on this man, but it doesn’t seem like a good idea in my current condition. However, I’m full of bad decisions lately.
“Maybe,” I say. Biting my own lip, I fight the grin on my face. “Come see me at the Bean sometime.”
It isn’t what he wants as an answer, and I instantly read it in his expression. I’m hurting him, and I hate myself.
“Yeah, well, see you at the Bean sometime.”
I nod before Bull turns and walks away again, leaving me next to the baby clothes rack. My heart drops to my feet as a sense of aloneness washes over me, and the hollowness in my belly is not from a lack of food.
A few days later, I meet Rita at the Busy Bean Café even though I’m not on the schedule to work. She likes to claim the peach plush couch as her place to think, and we need to brainstorm. I only have a couple of days left on my rental and no future place rented. Rita suggested I move in with her, and it isn’t a bad idea—roommates again—but it also doesn’t seem ideal. Rita and I are both set in our ways a bit, and I can’t lasso her with my condition or my future child. I need to find a place of my own.
However, we are sidetracked and scrolling the internet on her laptop for other things.
“I can’t believe I’m looking at these,” I say, staring at the white crib and baby bedding printed with sweet tiny ducks. “Who’d have thought? Me. Pregnant at my age.”
“You’re what?” The shout is enough to snap the chalkboard beams overhead, and Rita and I both jump at the strong male voice coming from before me. I look up and lock eyes with Bull.
“Hello, handsome,” Rita mutters beside me.
“I . . .” I don’t know what to say, as the heated seductive stares he’s given me in the past have morphed into a tempestuous storm.
“Start talking,” he demands. If his tone wasn’t so growly, it’d be sexy, but he has every right to be upset.
“I just . . .” My eyes shift to Zara working the counter today. I’ve already told both my bosses about my condition, hoping for their sympathy for my situation and some continued compassion for my working here. I don’t want to give up the job, and they’ve both been tremendously understanding.
Zara walks around the counter and crosses to us. “There’s a nice bench out on the lawn facing the river. Why don’t you two go there to talk?”
Rita pats my leg as I glance back at Bull. Zara is right. Bull and I need to step outside as several patrons are staring at us, curious about the wreck of a woman who can hardly make coffee and the steaming bull upset with her.
I can’t run off to the restroom like I did the other day. With shaky legs and a weak stomach, I stand. As I pass Zara, she reaches for my wrist and squeezes.
“When I told Dave about my situation”—Zara had a baby but didn’t know how to find Dave—“we were sitting on that bench, and things worked out for us. Maybe it will bring you good luck, too.”
As I trudge outside, I am not feeling fortunate. The Busy Bean is located on the Winooski River. When we reach the bench facing the water, we sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the ripples race before us. It’s the very end of April, and a beautiful spring day with a mild temperature. And I hate that I’m considering the weather because I don’t know where to start.
“Scarlett, just tell me everything,” Bull says as if reading my thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I dive into the highlights, explaining my job loss and my husband’s infidelity. As I’m on a roll, I add in my parents’ disappointment.
“They act like it’s my fault that my husband slipped his raisin into someone else’s cookie.”
Bull bitterly chuckles. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I’m a failure in their eyes, Bull, even though he’s the one who stepped out on me. I didn’t do all that a woman should do. Work, wife, motherhood—”
“Yeah, sweetheart, let’s jump ahead to that last point.” I have to admit every time he calls me sweetheart, I melt a little bit, and a part of my soul dies because of what I need to explain.
“The issue is, I’m pregnant now.”
He sits up a little straighter next to me, and his chest heaves. Hope fills his eyes. “Is it mine?”
My voice falters as what I have to say next might crush him. I close my eyes, shutting out the river. “I don’t know who the father is yet.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know yet?” Bull’s voice is steady but stern.
“According to the doctor’s estimation a few days ago, I’m six to seven weeks along. Considering how close we did what we did to my leaving my husband, it could be his.” I swallow the lump in my throat at the possibility I could be pregnant from Shelton, and I don’t want it to be his baby.