Adirondack Audacity Page 15

  Oh, boy…………And for the first time in my life, I lie to my grandmother.

  Chapter 18 The Jig is Up The slashing snow and rain of December scold in the dormant days of winter. The bullfrogs retreat to the bottom of the pond and marsh cattails explode into powder puffs leaving naked stalks of brown scattered across the shore. Fallen leaves cast adrift whirl like cyclones to rend and smash against stationary obstacles in their path.

  Time is running out, time is running out, soon your secret will be out, out, out…..

  I lied to Vic; it wasn’t mono, making me feel so tired. I’m not feeling better, if anything, I feel worse. Fatigue plagues my days…….because I’m pregnant.

  As much as I try to deny the reality of my situation, this morning I marked off December 15 on the calendar. It’s been over four months since I’ve had a period. What I thought was my menstrual cycle in September according to a book in the library was called “spotting” and not a true period.

  The cold truth permeates my bones chilling them as the frost outside the window encases the trees and grasses in a suffocating hold of ice and snow. Trapped, my mind not allowing the word to form, even thinking the word pregnant condones acceptance of the impossible. How could I have been so stupid? My mind rails in a tirade of self-recrimination.

  …

  January ushered in the New Year with a flurry of blizzards. The winds from the west blowing lake effect snows off Lake Ontario with a vengeance, dumping five to seven feet of snow, non-stop for three days. Living in upstate New York, blizzards are a natural occurrence, taking place any time from November through the early part of April. While the storms raged outside, I battle the need to confide in someone about the baby. Desperate for help, I decide to tell Gran. As much as I want to tell Vic first, I need a plan. There must be a way we can graduate from high school and keep our baby. As terrified as I am over the prospect of having a child, I want our baby.

  And I had a plan; it was a good plan except for one major flaw. On the final day of the blizzard, my independent grandmother decided to climb up and shovel the snow off her roof. She’s done this for years, but she turned sixty-eight last July. My father insisted it was too risky for her to climb up on the roof. He would do it from now on. Well,….no one…and I mean no one….tells my grandmother what to do. She climbed on the roof, slipped and fell. She lay unconscious in the snow for several hours until a neighbor stopped by to check on her. He found her lying in the cold and called the emergency squad. The ambulance rushed her to a local hospital, where she was treated for frostbite and spent eight hours in surgery to mend a broken hip and place two pins in her right leg. The surgeon predicted a long stay in a rehabilitation facility before she’d be able to live independently again.

  I was devastated over Gran’s injury and the fact that now I have no one to trust for help. I feel the bile green color of the hospital walls close around me, The breath sucked out of me, my thudding heart rises in my chest and threatens to choke me. A popular song on the radio tells the story of a man caught by the law. The jig is up, captured, branded a renegade, the hang man’s noose around his neck. I feel the noose slip slowly over my head. I thought I was frightened before, now I’m immobilized with terror. Fear for my grandmother’s health; and fear over my pregnancy makes the blood in my veins run cold. Like an animal caught in a trap, I freeze……incapable of thought or action.

  …

  And the noose tightens around my neck….Helen is suspicious. Even though I am tall and thin, wearing baggy sweatshirts and jeans does not conceal six months of pregnancy. Tonight at dinner with a smirk on her face, Helen announces she’s made an appointment for me with Dr. Richards next Tuesday. She claims I have not been “right” since returning from camp this summer; her face wears the predatory gloat of a cat ready to pounce on a cornered mouse. The jig is up …….. she knows. I feel my cheeks flush with color as I hide my trembling hands under the table. Mustering my courage, I look her in the eyes and calmly tell her I would be happy to visit Dr. Richards. The bitch. Her eyes widen in surprise at my acquiesce. I smile smugly at her though I fear I may throw up…….all over her favorite table cloth. Serve her right.

  There is no other choice; I need to be out of this house by Tuesday. To give Helen the satisfaction of a confrontation is pointless. In this house she is absolute power, dominating the will of those who lived under her roof. I’m simply a pawn in her web. I will leave on my own terms before she makes me abide by her terms. I have to tell Vic but first….

  … “Burt?”

  “Hey, what’s Happening?”

  “Is this Burt?”

  “Of course it is, who else would you be calling at this number? Who are You?”

  “Burt, this is Ellen.” I cringe; this is the man who’s going to be my savior, but just hearing his voice lightens my heart, even if he still emphasizes his words.

  “Ellen Who? My sixth grade math teacher, Ellen or my Aunt Ellen with the bad breath or are you, my favorite Ellen, the little one from camp, infamous underwear thief?” Oh boy, he knows me too well.

  “Burt, it’s your favorite Ellen, you goofball.”

  “Hey, did you figure out how to make Falafel yet?” I groan in despair, thinking some things never change.

  “No!”

  “Well, I guess you’re still my favorite, but you’re on waivers, maybe my aunt started using mouthwash, so you’re treading on thin ice. What’s up, Kiddo?”

  I hesitate; looking out the scratched window of the phone booth, making sure no one is listening. “Umm, Vic maybe coming to town over the weekend and we thought it would be fun to come see you. We thought we’d take the bus to Ohio if you could meet us at the bus station. Are you busy this weekend?”

  “No, I would love to See you.” His voice sounds puzzled. “Are you sure your parents are okay with this plan?”

  “Oh, yes, absolutely.” I gush. “They thought it was a great idea.” Damn. Too much information, Burt knows our parents and the idea of them being thrilled over our little road trip is preposterous.

  “Really? The two knuckleheads are traveling alone? Are You okay, Ellen?”

  “Yes, yes, just fine. Burt, we would really like to see you.”

  “Okay,” he starts slowly. “Mi Casa est Sous Casa. Or whatever the hell Vic would say in Spanish.”

  “Oh, thank you, Burt.” Relief floods through my voice.

  “Ellen, do you want me to come and pick you up?” Concern clouds his voice. “It’s not a problem. I could use a break from the sabbatical research I’ve been slaving over. On the Road Again and all that Willie Nelson bullshit. It’s not that far from here. I really don’t Mind.”

  And here on this spot, at this moment, I make a decision I will regret for the rest of my life. “No, Burt, really, we’ll be fine. I’ll call when we get close.”

  Chapter 19 Confession San Miguel Academy, Mexico

  The ringing of the phone in the hallway shatters the

  pre-dawn silence at Saint Miguel Academy. As the sun

  approaches from the east, the morning birds roosting in

  the trees open their throats to warble in the day. One of

  the boys annoyed by the unanswered ringing of the

  phone stumbles into the hall and snatches up the

  receiver, brusquely demanding, “What the hell do you

  want?” He leans on his elbow against the rough stucco

  wall listening to the response on the other end. “Vic, it’s

  for you, some girl. I don’t know, I think she’s speaking

  English.” He announces as he lets the receiver fall and

  bounce off the wall swaying from the cord, shuffling back

  to his room scratching his butt through his pajama

  bottoms.

  Vic lifts his head from the pillow, suddenly wide

  awake; his adrenaline response at full alert, knowing an

  early morning call can only mean trouble. Kicking aside

  the bed
sheets, he hastily dons a pair of sweatpants lying

  on the cold floor and stumbles to retrieve the phone.

  With his heart in his throat he answers, “Hello?” There’s

  no reply from the other line, so he repeats, “Hello?” “Vic,” comes the sound of Ellen’s voice weeping. “Elle?” He asks, pulling the stretched-out cord of the

  phone into his bedroom, shutting the door against the

  prying ears of the other students living on the floor. “Elle, what’s wrong, talk to me, querida, why are you

  crying?” he asks, confusion clouding his voice; “Is

  something wrong with Gran?”

  “No, Gran is doing fine, it’s not her. It’s me.” Ellen

  tries to explain. “I’m calling from a phone booth. I don’t

  want anyone to hear.” She is weeping uncontrollably,

  huge gasping sobs, almost hysterical.

  “Ella, tell me what’s wrong.” Vic demands, running a

  hand through his hair, pacing as far as the cord will allow,

  moving in a confined circle. “Elle, please talk to me. I’m

  here, caro. Take a deep breath, calm down. Whatever it is,

  we can fix it.”

  “I don’t think so, Vic……I’m pregnant,” she gasps

  out the words between sobs and only stunned silence

  comes over the line. “Vic? Are you there?” There is a

  thud as the receiver of the phone bangs to the floor. “Vic! Answer me,” she shouts into the phone when

  he makes no reply. “Vic, say something, you’re scaring

  me.”

  Vic picks up the receiver, trying to control the

  trembling in his voice. “Elle, did you say, pregnant?” he

  asks in disbelief feeling his heart hammer a hole through

  the wall of his chest.

  “Vic, I’m pregnant with our baby.”

  “Oh, Elle, no, no, how can this be, I thought you had

  your period months ago.” His breath grows ragged as he

  slides down the door frame, sitting with his head cradled

  in his hands, panic coursing through his body. “You

  wrote me, in September and the letter said we didn’t need

  to worry any more. Are you absolutely sure? I don’t

  understand. My God, how many months pregnant are

  you?”

  “I’m six months, I thought I had a period in

  September, and……..and I haven’t had another one since

  then. I know how stupid this sounds. I just kept hoping it was mono or something….” In a ragged whisper she says, “I can feel the baby kicking, I’m definitely

  pregnant.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner,” he asks, incredulous

  she would keep this secret from him. “Why did you keep

  this from me?” Anger seeps into his voice as shock

  mingles with disbelief.

  “Please don’t be angry with me, I haven’t told

  anyone. I thought it was mono, and that was why I was

  so tired, or maybe I would have a miscarriage, so why get

  everyone upset.” She sounds almost apologetic. “I was

  going to tell Gran. I know she would help me, but she

  had the accident. And…and I didn’t want to worry you.” “You didn’t want to worry me!” His voice rises in

  consternation. “I think I had damn well better be

  worried, like about five months ago. What the hell were

  you thinking!”

  “I don’t know!” Her sobs come in heaving gasps,

  desperately needing his reassurance not this shocked

  wraith. “I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do.” “How could you keep this from me?!”

  “Vic, I wanted to tell you so many times, but I was

  afraid. I didn’t want you to leave school.” She pauses,

  trying to regain her composure. “We have to finish school

  this year. How else can we go to college? It’s our only

  hope.”

  Vic leans against the wall, closing his eyes as the

  enormity of their situation becomes a reality.

  “Vic,’ Ellen whispers into the phone. “I’m frightened.

  I need you so badly.”

  Vic takes a deep breath, stands tall, straightening his

  shoulders to the responsibility ahead of him. “Oh, Ella,

  Ella, mia, forgive me, querida,” his anger vanishes, as he leans his head against the door for support, wishing he could slip through the phone line and take her in his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just such a shock, that’s all…..Let’s both calm down and figure out

  what to do. Have you seen a doctor?”

  “No, but Helen made an appointment for me to see

  one next week, I think she knows. The baggy sweatshirts

  are not going to work much longer. Vic, I’m really

  starting to get big.”

  “So tell me…how are you feeling?”

  “I’m actually feeling better than I did in the fall. I’m

  not so tired anymore, but from what I’ve read that is

  normal.”

  “Listen to me carefully,” he says aching to touch her

  face, wipe away her tears and fear. “I love you very

  much.”

  “I love you.” Snuffling through the tears, relief floods

  her voice as his anger is replaced by concern.

  “I’m coming to get you.” His voice takes on a

  reassuring tone as his mind races from one plan to the

  next accepting and rejecting possibilities in a matter of

  seconds.

  “Vic, I called Burt,” Ellen says. “I didn’t tell him

  anything. I only said we wanted to come for a visit. I

  think he was suspicious, he even offered to come get us,

  but I didn’t know when you would be able to get here.” “Good thinking. Burt will help us.” he sighs, pausing.

  “Go about your normal routine. I’ll leave immediately;

  catch a flight to New York and then a bus to you. When I

  arrive in New York City, I’ll call and let you know

  approximately what time the bus will get into town. Try

  to bring as much money as you can get together.” He

  rubs his forehead to stop the throbbing in his temples. “Gran started a joint account for me several years

  ago; she called it my nest egg, just in case I needed money

  for an emergency. I went to the bank after school today

  and withdrew the money. There was about two thousand

  dollars in the account.”

  “Thank God for Gran, that will get us to Burt and

  still have some left over. Then we’ll think of another way

  to come up with some cash,” he says, squatting down on

  his hunches. “But we can’t plan too far ahead, let’s just

  worry about the next few days.”

  “Once you’re here, I’ll be okay. I just need you to

  hold me.”

  “I’ll have to call you at home. Try to answer the

  phone. If someone else answers, I’ll just say that I’m in

  one of your classes at school and I have a question about

  a homework assignment.”

  “That should work;; my brothers have hockey games

  the next couple of nights, so I’ll be home alone.” “Can you think of anything else? Bring a birth

  certificate, if you have a copy and any other type of

  identification. We’ll try to get married, but because we’re

  not eighteen, I think we need our parents’ consent.” “I already feel married. The scar on my hand is proof.

  We have God as our witness.”

  “Me, too, bella, I wish I was with you now.�
� Vic

  closes his eyes, picturing her in his arms, safe from harm.

  “I had better get going, the sooner I start traveling the

  sooner I’ll be with you. Can you hold out until I get

  there?”

  “Yes, I feel better already.”

  “I love you.”

  “Love you back” And the phone lines go dead.

  Chapter 20 The Bull is Unleashed Pushing open the door and switching on the lights, Vic’s father, Ramon Rienz walks into the chic New York City apartment, no sound of warm greeting welcomes him home after a long day of business negotiations. Without looking, he knows his wife is passed out across the pale blue comforter in her separate bedroom, another day of wooing the vodka bottle.

  Shaking his head in disgust he walks to the wet bar, tosses a few ice cubes in a tumbler and pours himself a shot of whiskey and a splash of water. Surveying the main living space of the apartment his face twists in a grimace of distaste;; his wife’s decorating style evident in every single piece of furniture and fancy whatnots. The thick white carpet is soft in contrast to the azure blue walls and sofa, accented with pale shades of yellow. Her artistic taste apparent in the Impressionist reproductions hanging from ornate picture frames throughout the apartment. The room too formal and feminine for his taste, he prefers the rustic atmosphere of the ranch. His idea of comfort is not silk pillows edged in lace. He loosens the tie around his neck, and tosses his suit jacket across the back of the couch. Pulling at the cuffs of his French tailored shirt, he takes out the cufflinks and rolls up his shirtsleeves. With a manicured hand, he smooths back his hair, touched at the temples with just the right amount of dignified gray. Sighing, he takes a sip of whiskey, still a handsome man at the age of fifty-four, he has no problems attracting women. He just doesn’t like keeping them; inevitably they turn into whining nags and shrews. Except for Maraposia, his mistress back in Mexico, together not out of love, maybe lust, they understand each other. She is also ruthless in pursuit of her needs. One of the few women in his life tolerated for more than a casual fling. She serves a purpose, but if need be, she can be discarded without remorse. Feeling restless he walks out onto the balcony overlooking the city inhaling the cold January air, clearing his head of the tension nagging at his temples. Setting the glass on the balcony railing, he reaches up stretching his back releasing muscles cramped from hours of meetings.