Jamie McGuire - Happenstance

I chewed my thumbnail, staring at the red Chevy parked across the street. “No way. Not after the way I treated him.”

“Honey, if he can’t understand that you had just gotten the shock of your life, then he doesn’t deserve to see you.”

The driver’s side door of the Chevy opened and shut. The truck quickly backed out, paused for less than a second, and then surged across the street, not stopping until it was behind the Dairy Queen. I rushed to the back door, but Weston had already opened it.

I practically lunged for him, and he caught me, letting me squeeze the life out of him without complaint. He made the same soothing sounds Frankie was before and I cried again.

Frankie stood in the doorway, staring at me like I was dying. “Take that girl home, Weston.”

“I don’t . . . have a home,” I said, bawling.

“I’m taking you home with me,” Weston said. He placed me on my feet just long enough to lift me into his arms and carry me to the passenger side of his pickup. Frankie opened the door for him, and he set me in the seat and closed the door. Frankie’s muffled voice buzzed and then paused as Weston spoke. After they hugged, he jogged around to the driver’s side.

He held my hand firmly in his as we drove to his house, and again as we walked inside. He led me straight to the lower level and watched me as I sat on the couch.

“I’m going to run upstairs and grab some drinks and . . . what are you hungry for?”

“I’m not, really.”

Weston sighed and nodded. “No, I imagine not.” He pushed a button on the remote and started the last movie on the list, then hurried back up the stairs. I was glad he turned on the television before he went and didn’t leave me alone with my thoughts.

Less than two minutes later, Weston was sitting next to me, placing the various boxes and packages he’d brought with him on the coffee table, including tissues. Then he twisted the cap on a bottle of Fanta, handing it to me.

“I figured you probably didn’t need the caffeine.”

My hand shook as I held the bottle to my lips and took a sip. Weston took the bottle from me and set it on the coffee table. When he settled back to the couch, I leaned against him, letting myself sink into his arms.

He touched his lips to my temple. “Tell me what to do, Erin. Tell me how to make you feel better,” he whispered.

“This,” I replied. “Just this.”

At five thirty, the garage door hummed above us. We could hear the door open and close, and other sounds that signaled both of his parents were home. Before long, the door at the top of the stairs opened, and two sets of footsteps descended the stairs.

Weston didn’t move, and neither did I. Peter and Veronica each sat in one of two recliners on each side of the coffee table. Peter rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands, reminding me of the principal right before he told me the news.

“We heard,” Peter said, his voice low and calm.

Veronica leaned forward, pure sympathy in her eyes. “Peter and I have been discussing this since we heard, and when you’re ready, we’d like to offer you some legal advice. However, we’ve also spoken to Sam and Julianne Alderman, and they’re hoping to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”

“Like when?” I asked. I was lying against Weston and probably looked like an ill-mannered sloth, but I was emotionally and physically tapped.

“They live right around the corner from us,” Peter said. “They’re waiting at their home, now. They just want to make sure you’re okay. It doesn’t have to be tonight.”

A door slammed upstairs and footsteps stomped all over the kitchen. “Veronica?” A female voice called. She sounded desperate.

Peter ran up the stairs. A calm disagreement ensued, and then several people came down to Weston’s space, where no one was supposed to be bothering us. Weston and I both stood when we saw Sam and Julianne standing at the bottom of the stairs.

Peter was breathing hard. “Julianne, I don’t think this is a good idea,” he warned.

Julianne’s eyes were bright red. She began to walk over to me, but her husband stopped her.

“Julianne!”

Julianne held her hands in front of her chest. “I’m so sorry. I know you’ve had an upsetting day. I just . . . I’ve had one, too. An upsetting week, actually, and I . . .” a tear escaped her eye and fell down her cheek.  “I heard that you didn’t have a lot of support at the school when you were told the news, and I . . . just needed to make sure that you’re okay. That’s all I wanted to do.”

I took a few steps until I was a couple of feet away from them: my parents. They were gawking at me like a precious gem. Sam held on to Julianne’s shoulders, and she nearly leaned forward.

She held out her hands, and then made them into fists, clearly fighting with what she wanted and what she should do. Her voice broke when she spoke. “Would it be okay if I . . . I would just like to hug you, if that’s okay. I don’t want to upset you.”

Everyone watched me for my response.

Almost too subtly for anyone to see, I nodded once, and Julianne reached for me, pulling me against her chest. Her body shook as she sobbed.

“Julianne, honey,” Sam begged. “Please don’t scare her.”

I looked up at him from her shoulder. “It’s okay. She can cry.”

Sam’s lips trembled, and he reached out, hesitant and nervous, and touched my shoulder. Tears streamed down his cheeks as well, and the corners of his mouth curled up as he watched his wife hold me while she cried.

An hour later, we were all upstairs, sitting at the table around a half-eaten cheese and cracker tray, an empty bottle of wine, and a two-liter bottle of Fanta Orange, minus two glasses poured. Peter and Veronica talked about their ski vacation, and how Peter’s skiing skills weren’t quite as advanced as he thought.

It felt good to laugh, to listen to Sam and Julianne talk, and to get to know them better. I couldn’t stop staring at them. Veronica was right; I did have Julianne’s eyes. And for the first time, I associated myself with beauty, because I always thought that Julianne Alderman was beautiful, inside and out. The bottom half of my face was from Sam. I had the same thin top lip with the M-shape in the center, and the full bottom lip. I also had his chin. I wondered if they thought the same things about me, or if anyone had ever thought these things about me.

Julianne reached across the table and held my hands. “You must think I’m a horrible mother, for not knowing. I’m a PA for goodness sake. But I told them, when they didn’t bring you back to me after your bath, that they had brought back the wrong baby. I knew, but they said I was just tired. Then they said it was the hormones. And through the years, other mothers said they had the same fears because of the stories you hear.”

“Julianne, I think it’s time we let Erin rest. She has school tomorrow.”

Julianne held her hand to her chest, fumbling with the buttons on her silk blouse; then she began to tremble. “I . . . I don’t know if she . . . do you want to . . .?”

“Why doesn’t she stay here for the night?” Veronica said. “After she calls Ms. Easter and lets her know where she is?”

“We don’t have a phone,” I said. “And she doesn’t really . . . I don’t think she’s expecting me.”

That seemed to upset Julianne.

“We have some of Whitney’s clothes still here. You’re welcome to them,” Veronica said.

“Do you want to stay here?” Julianne asked.

“I would appreciate that,” I said, feeling emotional again.

Sam stood and encouraged Julianne to stand with him. She clearly didn’t want to leave, but he encouraged her until she finally yielded, but not without giving me another hug.

When the door closed, Weston, Veronica, Peter, and I stood in the front room, looking at each other.

“Erin, you can stay in Whitney’s old room. This is a bit . . . unorthodox, but I think it’s in your best interest until Sam and Julianne and you decide where to go from here. From a legal standpoint, this is all a little fuzzy since you’re no longer a minor. Don’t worry. You’re Sam and Julianne’s daughter. Whatever you decide, they’re going to make sure you’re well taken care of. Weston, show her to her room. Let her rest. She’s had a long day.”

Weston nodded and led me up the stairs by the hand. Whitney’s room was on the opposite end of the hall from Weston’s. She had her own enormous bathroom, with a tub and shower and a linen cabinet that spanned from floor to ceiling, full of big, fluffy towels. Weston checked to make sure there was soap and shampoo.

“We can pick up anything else you need from Gina’s tomorrow, if you want.”

I dipped my head in agreement.

He led me back into the bedroom, and pulled back the comforter. “Clean sheets.” He opened the closet. “Clothes and lots of ’em.” He pulled open a dresser drawer. “Night gowns and pajama sets. Some of them silk, because Whitney’s a huge diva. Just leave your laundry in that hamper and Lila will launder them in the morning when she gets here. I’m pretty sure Whitney still has makeup and ponytail holders and stuff in the drawers by the sink.”

“She does,” Veronica said, breezing through the door. She handed me a new toothbrush, a full tube of toothpaste, and a brand new stick of deodorant. “Peter is always saying I overstock. You have won a twenty-year-long argument for me tonight, little miss.”

“I wish I could think of a way to say thank you. I’m sorry I …”

“Nonsense,” Veronica said, holding the knob while she hovered in the doorway. “We’re going to get this all worked out. You try to rest. See you in the morning. Wes?”