She craned her neck trying to read all the posters, searching for one which said, Single Mommies Rock, Too.
The flat-faced woman hovered. “Hi. I see you’re alone.”
“No.”
“You’re not?” The woman double-checked the empty chairs on either side in case she made a mistake.
“He’s coming.”
“Oh. Well until he does…”
“He’s sitting there.” Zelda laid her palm on the chair before the woman could sit. Clearly deprived of oxygen at birth, the woman tried sitting on the other side. Zelda laid her hand down there. “He’s not real decisive.”
“You don’t want to be disturbed. I understand.”
“Good.” Zelda pushed her eyebrows into her hair line, finally sending the visitor away. I should’ve brought the chocolate.
“Ms. Jones?” A voice from above guided her toward a sliding door with etchings of dancing children. She followed the HG children singing on both sides of the hall into a lovely office with more cushy furniture. Zelda thought about stealing one of the oak and leather chairs and fleeing, but the door quickly slid open to the sounds of more squealing brats.
“Hello, Zelda.” Paula Stobbs, a sturdy woman with kind eyes and a faint moustache, took the chair next to her. “How are you?”
“Great.”
“Excellent. Very happy you came right down. Exciting, huh?”
“Yes.” More children laughed from somewhere. Zelda wished she had one of Puppy’s baseball bats. “They’re not real, are they?”
“Sounds it, don’t they? Well, if you can just hop up on the table. This’ll only take a second.” She slipped on clear examining gloves.
“For what?”
“To examine you.”
“Why?”
Paula’s bright smile faded a little. “We have to make sure the test was correct. It is ninety-nine percent accurate, but as Grandma says, mistakes are a part of life.”
Zelda cautioned herself against too much hope. Reprieves didn’t happen to her. Only really happy and hopeful people are rewarded with miracles. She was right; Paula nearly stuck her chubby hand so far up Zelda could lick her fingertips, pulling out with a merry laugh.
“Confirmed.”
“Yay.”
Paula tossed the gloves and patted Zelda on the knee. “Is your partner joining us?”
Zelda cleared her throat. “I don’t have one.”
“Oh.” Paula seemed genuinely disappointed. “So you’re not married?”
“No.”
“Engaged?”
Zelda shook her head.
“Oh. Well. Single.” It was like someone invisible twisted off Paula’s head and replaced it with a different colder person. “Planning on bonding with the child’s father?”
“Um, no.”
Stobbs darkened. “Know who he is?”
“I could guess, but that wouldn’t be right.”
“No. It would be illegal.” Paula sadly sat behind her desk. “Do you understand your responsibilities, Ms. Jones?”
From Zelda to Ms. Jones. Soon it’ll be Naughty Single Slut. “Not totally.”
“Your baby now belongs to someone else.” Paula forced a smile to reduce the sting. “It’s still possible you can keep the child if, of course, you find someone suitable to marry. That happens, this is life, and a father will initially balk or the mother can’t consider marrying them until they finally come to their senses. That’s also strictly monitored. We don’t tolerate just any parents, even the biological ones. Either they truly want the baby or someone who does will adopt the child. That’s your situation at the moment. If a partner comes forth and we can sort out if that’s the right one, we’d confirm that with a DNA test.”
Zelda’s mind wandered; this was too surreal, there had to be a safer place where brats didn’t grow inside you.
Paula sensed her drifting. “Honestly, Ms. Jones, do you envision someone coming forward who would make a good partner? Or finding someone else who you would genuinely love and who would genuinely make a good parent?”
A real relationship. That doesn’t happen to people like her, either. She shook her head.
“That answer is not really official, by the way.” Paula scribbled something in Zelda’s chart, forcing out another smile. “Things change.”
“I don’t like children,” Zelda suddenly said.
“What?” Paula nearly leaped out of her seat.
“I was a teacher. I liked teaching them, but I think they’re really annoying. I would’ve hated me as a kid. Course I’ll do whatever for the law. I’m here, right? Tested two days ago, made my appointment. But I never wanted to be a mother.”
Paula wrote for a few minutes, ignoring Zelda’s sobs. “You have to begin Parent Training within two weeks. Normally it’s a month, but in your case…” She didn’t need to say more. “Your employer will be notified in the next two weeks, which gives you the option of telling them first. I recommend that. It’s more personal and defuses the shock. I know this sucks, Zelda. The next eight months will be painful. But you’ve added a soldier in the fight against the Allahs. That counts for something.”
Zelda hated everyone on Earth.
• • • •
FRECKLIE HAD FALLEN asleep again by home plate, curled up in two frayed towels tied together. The smell of the freshly trimmed grass tickled his nostrils; the sun danced overhead. He rose onto his hands and knees; his crazy mother would be sticking squared notes all over Dale’s house any second to check up on him.
To regain as much clarity as he could on a couple hours sleep, Frecklie walked to the mound. Now pitching, Ruben Rivera, he bowed. The smell of new paint blotted out the smell of grass. From foul pole to foul pole, the shining blue seats said good morning.
About eight of his staff were asleep in the aisles, careful not to smear their jobs. Another few slept on the dugout floor. Frecklie clapped his hands, the echo jolting them up; they rubbed their eyes childishly. He trotted past second, slowing down. Even after skull-picking, he was still squeamish. He carefully monitored the level of the grass, which in the short outfield was about two inches, rising up to his ankles as he neared the track warning, no, the warning track, get the names right, he scolded himself, making a note in his
