“Oh?” Neal made an effort to walk without limping, even though the pain was almost unbearable. “What do you mean?”
The guard laughed. “You look like death warmed-over. You’re white as a sheet.”
Neal touched his face self-consciously, then opened the door of his van.
“You better see a doctor. I don’t think you should be driving.”
“I already saw a doctor,” Neal said, slamming his door shut. “Why don’t you mind your own damn business?”
The guard shook his head. Neal glanced at his own face in the rearview mirror and noticed that his forehead was beaded with sweat. His skin seemed colorless. Yeah, he did look like “death warmed-over.” That was a good description.
But he had to keep working.
Avoiding any more eye contact with the guard, he revved up the van’s engine and pulled away.
* * *
Cradling a sleeping Natasha in one arm, Annie picked up the telephone and punched in the same long distance number that she had called at least 20 times that day. On her first few attempts to reach her mother, she was almost relieved there was no answer. They hadn’t spoken in months, since Annie had, in so many words, told her mom to butt out of her life.
“Mrs.” Paula Crawford still lived in Chattanooga and had been dating a guy named Doug for the past sixth months or so. Annie didn’t care much for Doug—he was a kind of a dimwitted truck mechanic who only seemed interested watching football and wrestling on TV. But he was “hard-working,” and “very loyal,” to use her mother’s words. Annie supposed that if Doug made her mother happy, that was all that mattered. She just wished her mom had the same attitude about Neal.
But the breakdown in the mother-daughter relationship wasn’t Annie’s fault—she was sure a lot of girls would have done the same in her situation. Didn’t her mother realize what a double-bind she created for her daughter? She hadn’t wanted Annie to marry Neal, but she hadn’t wanted Annie to be an unwed mother, either. What choices did that leave? Have an abortion, or give the baby up for adoption. That was it. Annie would
The worst thing about all this was her mother’s hypocrisy. The prim-and-proper “Mrs.” Paula Crawford couldn’t bear the thought of having a daughter who was an unwed mother, worried about what all her friends and everybody else in Chattanooga would say about it behind her back. Yet, “Mrs.” Paula Crawford wasn’t even married anymore—Annie’s father had left them when Annie was eight years old—but Paula had no problem sleeping with whomever she pleased. Before Doug it was Charlie, and before Charlie it was Wallace, and before him...well, Annie had lost track of them all. But for her daughter to have a baby without being married... no, we couldn’t have that, could we!
But now, Annie regretted cutting off communications with her mother. She didn’t think she could tolerate another night with Neal, and there was nowhere else she could go. Having an infant to care for, she couldn’t just drop in on a friend and spend the night. Not that she had many friends in Atlanta, anyway—she had only moved there a few months before she met Neal. She had grown up in Chattanooga, and most of her childhood friends had moved away. She hadn’t made any real friends since she had moved to Atlanta, just a few other single girls she had met at the dance clubs. She had painfully discovered that when you get married and have a baby, all your single friends slowly but inevitably distance themselves from you. Shellie, her old roommate, hadn’t even called once since Annie had married Neal.
Her mother’s phone rang and rang and rang. Just before Annie hung up, somebody answered.
When Annie heard that old familiar voice, the voice of Mother, the voice of the prim-and-proper “Mrs.” Paula Crawford, her vocal cords seem to freeze solid. She hadn’t expected an answer this time, either, and she didn’t know how to begin.
“Hello?” Paula repeated in an annoyed tone, as if she thought it was a prank call.
“Mama?” The word just sort of squeaked out of Annie’s mouth. And though she hadn’t intended it, her voice sounded very childlike.
“Annie! Is something wrong?”
“No,” Annie said, struggling to compose
