have diluted some in the next generation
of the gene pool, but not by much.
“Daddy,” I called to him.
“Not now, Jennifer.” He didn’t even glance
my way.
“Then when?”
He grabbed his cigarette, tossed it to the
floor, and mashed it. “How could you and Chris do this to your futures?”
“I love him, Daddy, with all my heart.”
“You think I don’t know that? The two of you
have been inseparable for almost six years. I thought you had more sense to
you. Commonsense to set your priorities.”
“You don’t care that we’re getting married?”
“Course not. Chris told me back at Christmas
time he planned on proposing to you come Valentine’s Day. Asked me for my
blessing back then and I gave it to him. Son of a bitch told me it would be a
long engagement so you could finish school.”
“He didn’t know about the baby,” I reasoned
as I took in the information he gave me. “We want to do the right thing and
this is what’s right for us.”
“I truly hope so, June Bug,” he called me by
my old nickname. I was born in June and crawled at an early age.
“I don’t like bringing you disappointment.”
He finally looked at me and said, “I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have said something so harsh. Being caught off guard is no
excuse.”
I could tell he would come around in time.
Changing the subject seemed to be the best option for us. I noticed he had
finished painting the body of his car. Instead of the gray primer it had been
two weeks earlier, it was now candy apple red. We talked about the engine he
would be putting into it; a Chevy 350 bore .030 times over with a 4:11 rear.
For the first time since we talked, he smiled as he discussed his car. He
would definitely come around.
Chapter Seven
Present Day
I performed a thorough search of my bedroom,
deemed it “bat free,” and closed the window. My book kept me company and
helped me avoid Chris for the remainder of the morning. When I reached the
ending, I sat it down while at a complete loss on what to do with myself until
it was time to go to bed. Being stuck like this was torture.
I pulled out my phone and texted Hudson to
see how New York was going. He answered quickly with a picture message. He
and his friends were at Yankees Stadium waiting for the game to start. They
looked happy and maybe, just maybe, a little drunk even though most of them
were under age. I was his age once. When there was a will, there was a way.
The caption under the photo said, “At game. Doing fine. Go Yankees!”
That ate up three minutes. So I texted
Clinton next. Instead of a text, he called me. I was ecstatic.
“Are you having fun?” I asked.
“Thank God we’re in a motor home because
grandpa has to take a piss all the time,” he stated in his usual style of
lingo. Crude.
“Yes, well, other than the bathroom breaks,
are you enjoying yourself?”
“We’re heading for an RV park in North
Carolina. I guess we’re staying there for the night and then driving through
to the Outer Banks tomorrow. They’re tired. It sucks cuz we’re almost there.”
“Grandpa and Grandma are in their late sixties,
sweetie, so please pull your weight and be helpful.”
I had no trouble hearing his loud sigh over
the phone thanks to pristine digital technology. I could even envision the eye
roll he performed. “Yes, mother.”
“I’m not lecturing you. Just reminding you.”
“What are you up to?”
“Your father and I are at Seneca Lake for the
weekend.”
“Cool. You going boating with the Palmers?”
“No. We aren’t staying with them. I think
you’re father rented this cottage or something,” I replied realizing how
strange my answer sounded.
“Just the two of you?”
“Carson’s camping at Jamie’s and you know
where Hudson is.”
“Yea, the dickhead sent me a pic of himself
standing outside of the stadium. He was flipping me off.”
“You’re brother isn’t a dickhead,” I scolded
thinking he sounded more like Tony Soprano
of the gene pool, but not by much.
“Daddy,” I called to him.
“Not now, Jennifer.” He didn’t even glance
my way.
“Then when?”
He grabbed his cigarette, tossed it to the
floor, and mashed it. “How could you and Chris do this to your futures?”
“I love him, Daddy, with all my heart.”
“You think I don’t know that? The two of you
have been inseparable for almost six years. I thought you had more sense to
you. Commonsense to set your priorities.”
“You don’t care that we’re getting married?”
“Course not. Chris told me back at Christmas
time he planned on proposing to you come Valentine’s Day. Asked me for my
blessing back then and I gave it to him. Son of a bitch told me it would be a
long engagement so you could finish school.”
“He didn’t know about the baby,” I reasoned
as I took in the information he gave me. “We want to do the right thing and
this is what’s right for us.”
“I truly hope so, June Bug,” he called me by
my old nickname. I was born in June and crawled at an early age.
“I don’t like bringing you disappointment.”
He finally looked at me and said, “I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have said something so harsh. Being caught off guard is no
excuse.”
I could tell he would come around in time.
Changing the subject seemed to be the best option for us. I noticed he had
finished painting the body of his car. Instead of the gray primer it had been
two weeks earlier, it was now candy apple red. We talked about the engine he
would be putting into it; a Chevy 350 bore .030 times over with a 4:11 rear.
For the first time since we talked, he smiled as he discussed his car. He
would definitely come around.
Chapter Seven
Present Day
I performed a thorough search of my bedroom,
deemed it “bat free,” and closed the window. My book kept me company and
helped me avoid Chris for the remainder of the morning. When I reached the
ending, I sat it down while at a complete loss on what to do with myself until
it was time to go to bed. Being stuck like this was torture.
I pulled out my phone and texted Hudson to
see how New York was going. He answered quickly with a picture message. He
and his friends were at Yankees Stadium waiting for the game to start. They
looked happy and maybe, just maybe, a little drunk even though most of them
were under age. I was his age once. When there was a will, there was a way.
The caption under the photo said, “At game. Doing fine. Go Yankees!”
That ate up three minutes. So I texted
Clinton next. Instead of a text, he called me. I was ecstatic.
“Are you having fun?” I asked.
“Thank God we’re in a motor home because
grandpa has to take a piss all the time,” he stated in his usual style of
lingo. Crude.
“Yes, well, other than the bathroom breaks,
are you enjoying yourself?”
“We’re heading for an RV park in North
Carolina. I guess we’re staying there for the night and then driving through
to the Outer Banks tomorrow. They’re tired. It sucks cuz we’re almost there.”
“Grandpa and Grandma are in their late sixties,
sweetie, so please pull your weight and be helpful.”
I had no trouble hearing his loud sigh over
the phone thanks to pristine digital technology. I could even envision the eye
roll he performed. “Yes, mother.”
“I’m not lecturing you. Just reminding you.”
“What are you up to?”
“Your father and I are at Seneca Lake for the
weekend.”
“Cool. You going boating with the Palmers?”
“No. We aren’t staying with them. I think
you’re father rented this cottage or something,” I replied realizing how
strange my answer sounded.
“Just the two of you?”
“Carson’s camping at Jamie’s and you know
where Hudson is.”
“Yea, the dickhead sent me a pic of himself
standing outside of the stadium. He was flipping me off.”
“You’re brother isn’t a dickhead,” I scolded
thinking he sounded more like Tony Soprano
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