She looked great. Cutoffs and a short T, with thin sandals that showed off her sexy legs and feet. For just a moment I forgot she was carrying our kid. Just a very brief moment.
“Em, I’m sorry about last night.”
“This morning.”
We sat at a table in the large hallway outside the deli, sipping on coffee and chewing on bagels.
“Yeah. Things are happening.”
“What things?”
“Do you want to talk about that or about the-” how was I to refer to it?
“The what?”
“The situation?”
“Why don’t we just call it what it is, Skip? The pregnancy.”
“Okay.”
She frowned. “Do you want to say it? Why not try it out.”
I didn’t like being treated like a kid, however, I knew she was right. If I couldn’t even say it, I probably couldn’t deal with it.
“Do you want to talk about my phone calls last night or your pregnancy?”
She didn’t smile. “First of all, tell me what was so important about last night.”
I did. And then I told her about the news this morning.
“Oh, my God.” She stared at her coffee. A man next to us opened his Miami Herald and I could hear him softly whisper, “Oh, my God.” God was a busy guy this morning.
“Em, it might not be Vic.”
She said nothing, just continued to look into her coffee. What’s the song by Carly Simon about clouds in the coffee?
Finally she looked up. “If it is Vic, then we need to call the authorities. This could be murder and we can’t let that go unreported.” It came to me. “You’re So Vain” from some time back in the sixties or seventies.
“What about Fuentes?”
“He’s bound to hear the news.”
“But do we still drop off the mail? He told me to drop the entire matter, that if we kept getting ourselves involved, it would put Vic’s life in danger. But now, if his son is dead-”
“Do you think he’ll call you?”
“Fuentes? I don’t know. I think he’s under a lot of pressure. I may be low priority right now. It’s strange, Em. He asked us to find his son, now he wants us to get out of the way.”
“Trust me,” she said. “Your phone call at four in the morning moved you up to the top of his priority list.”
“I’ll wait till noon and see if he calls. If he doesn’t, I’ll call him. Considering we’re talking about his kid, I would think he’s monitoring the situation.”
“It’s a plan.” She smiled, the first one I’d seen in a couple of days. “Do you want to discuss the situation?”
“Sure.” But I didn’t know what to say.
“You are the father. There’s no question about it. I took a home pregnancy test about a week ago, and I would guess I’m five or six weeks.”
She looked into my eyes, waiting for some reaction and I had none. It was still a shock to me.
“I’ve considered my options. I can have the baby and keep it or I can put it up for adoption.”
“There’s another option.”
“Not as far as I’m concerned.” She squinted her eyes. “Don’t bring that up again, Skip. Ever.”
Facing the doors at the end of the hall, I could see Biscayne Bay, the sparkling blue water and several of the big white boats in the marina. A yellow kayak drifted up to the dock. I wondered what it would be like to just sail away with no destination and no master plan. It sounded good until I realized it was kind of like being adrift on the ocean without a rudder. It all depends on your perspective. Right now I was on the ocean and rudderless. Problems seemed to compound themselves.
“Have you been to the doctor?”
“No.”
Two chubby Latin babes in too-tight pants and halter tops walked by us, both pushing a stroller with an infant inside.
“I’m going to see my OB-GYN in a couple of days.”
I searched for questions. I had a million, but couldn’t think of one. Finally, I said, “Does your dad know?”
She sighed. “No. He’s going to rave and rant and threaten you-”
“Tell him to stand in line.”
“Then he’ll settle down and realize it takes two to tango.”
There was an uneasy silence. Finally, I had to ask.
“Where do you see me in this scenario?”
“You’re the father. Where do you see yourself?”
“Look, Em, I’m in love with you. You know that. I’d have an exclusive relationship if you’d agree to it. That’s no secret.”
“So what are you proposing?”
I put my hand on hers. “Proposing may be a bad choice of words.”
She laughed. Out loud. “God, Skip. I’m scared. I never, we never. .. did you ever-”
“No. I never expected anything like this. Should we get married?”
“Oh, God no. Are you ready for marriage? I don’t think so.”
“And you are?”
She shook her head with exaggerated swings. “Hell no. I’m not ready to have a kid either. But I’ll deal with it.”
“Why wouldn’t you marry me?”
She took her hand from mine and picked up her coffee cup. Taking a sip she struggled for words. “I wish I smoked cigarettes.”
“So you wouldn’t have to deal with issues.”
“All right,” she said, “you want issues? You’re immature.”
“Well…”
“You live like a pig, you and your Neanderthal roommate.”
“Not a husbandly trait?”
“You’ve got a job that doesn’t even support you, and you have absolutely no future.”
I shook my head in agreement. “Yeah, but I’m cute. And I love you.”
She pursed her lips. “All right, let me take those two things into consideration.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I MET JAMES AT THE APARTMENT. He told me he’d slept till noon in between two calls from Cap’n Crab threatening his employment if he didn’t get his ass into work. But James has a great sick voice. You’d swear he was going to die. He groans, sputters, wheezes and pretty soon you decide he isn’t long for the world. Lindsey at Cap’n Crab told him he’d better be in tomorrow for sure. She didn’t fire him, but I think she’s sweet on him, so he gets a pass.
“When we have employees, Skip, I hope to hell they’re better workers than we are.” He lay on the couch sucking on a long-neck beer.
“If they don’t show up, we’ll have to do all the work.”
“Yeah.”
I straddled a dining room chair, the screws stripped from the metal legs. It was perilously close to collapsing and we had a bet on how many more days it could support us. The bet was only for five bucks. Probably an
