Falling From Grace

Chapter 8

8

I n the short time it took for us to arrive back in Catalina, we had found some semblance of calm. Keeping my head propped on the windowsill, I admired the pitch-black desert. It was just a void of darkness outside. Everything seemed to cease to exist. Sometimes it wasn’t as easy to hide the unpleasant things like the desert did. It never mattered how deep I dug the problem into the farthest corner of my mind, it still had a way of coming back to me. Each time in a new way. I sat up, as we were moments away from turning left down the street towards the trailer park, but Peter flew by the exit.

“Hey, you missed it.”

“What?” He glanced back and exhaled in exhaustion. “Sorry. I-I’ll try to find some place to turn around.”

He kept his sights on the white lines. Though he didn’t really say much or let his mask slip away, there were moments when I believed he was just as exhausted with life as I was. A kind of exhaustion I knew all too well. I looked away. Other than a few fleeting headlights, nothing else seemed to lay ahead on the dark road.

“Hey, uh,” Peter began. “I-I don’t know if you’re hungry or not, but um ... I think eating some food would be good right now. Could take the edge off, you know? Ray told me that Sunny Side Cafe was pretty good.”

“Ray? Ray Johnson?”

“Yeah, he was tellin’ me about it the other day. It’s close by, I think. I’ve passed by it a few times. I-If you don’t want to, I don’t mind goin’ back and dropping you off. Really. Whatever you wanna do.”

I knew with all my heart that if I said it, he wouldn’t think twice about turning around to appease me, but there was another want. A want I never thought I’d have. It wasn’t a want born out of obligation for what he had done, but from the look in his eyes right now. A look I never wanted to see again. And I knew it would be my biggest regret if I didn’t take this chance to take it away. Even if it was for a brief time.

“ Alright.”

For the remainder of the drive, we didn’t utter a word. He seemed relieved he didn’t have to say anything further. In less than fifteen minutes, the letters of Sunny Side Cafe glowed red in the distance. After letting the engine sputter to a silence, Peter climbed out slower than usual, holding his lower back. A heavy ache weighed on my chest like the time I held my breath too long underwater. I’d always wondered what Pa was doing to Mama as I hid in the closet down the hall. I wasn’t unfamiliar with the violence that people were capable of, and yet, all I cared about at that moment was Peter. As he made his way around the truck, his limp more noticeable than before, I pulled down the visor and ran my fingers through my hair. That’s when I saw the few bruises along my right arm and the beginning of another around the side of my eye. Just as he opened the door, I shut the visor.

“You need any help gittin’ down?”

I shook my head and unbuckled my seatbelt, slowly sliding off the seat as I stifled a whine.

Peter stepped forward. “Grace—?”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine.” I set my feet on the pavement. He shut the door and then locked and unlocked the truck three times before walking up beside me. I slipped each arm through the sleeves of my cardigan.

“Can I ask why you do that?”

“ Do what?”

“Lock the truck three times.”

“It’s an old habit of mine is all.”

Peter jogged ahead of me and caught the door just as a man left, holding it open. The walls were just as yellow as I remembered them. Windows framed the rugged beauty of the Catalina Mountains during the day. A row of black and white pictures displayed the history of Tucson. Redbone’s “Come and Get your Love” softly played on the radio. The smells of nicotine and beer hung in the air from the half dozen night workers drinking their coffee. A few burly men at the counter and a waitress conducted full body sweeps as they watched Peter follow behind me. Their gazes and the suspicious murmurs traveled through the cafe like dust on a windy day. Spotting the sign for the restroom, I started to make my way there but stopped when a hand grabbed my arm, and I looked over my shoulder. Peter had that same look from the fair when he saw me all alone.

His cheeks flushed red, and he immediately pulled away his hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean ... ” he stammered. “I’ll, uh, let you do your thing ...” He stepped back, looking over at the waitress who stared at him. “S-she’s with me.” He cleared his throat. The woman’s eyes swept over me from top to bottom.

“I am,” I reassured her and regarded Peter, who still hadn’t moved. “I’m just gonna go to the bathroom real quick. I’m comin’ right back. I promise,” I said calmly in hopes to comfort him. “Alright?”

He nodded. “I’ll be at a table if you need me. Okay?” He hesitated and then walked over to a booth.

I turned and rushed down the hall, rattling the doorknob to the women’s bathroom. Holding my legs tight, I urgently knocked on the door and bounced in place. I tried the doorknob to the men’s and quickly slipped inside. The smell alone made me gag. After relieving my bladder, I washed my hands and splashed water on my face and on the back of my neck. Taking a deep breath, I finally looked at myself in the mirror and gently touched the bruise with my fingertips. It almost looked like my mama’s. Just as purple. Just as red. Though its swell would heal, the memory of its sting would forever hold the hate I held for my pa. After taking one last breath, I left to find Peter already seated, his foot tapping anxiously. I sat down in relief and set my bag beside me, still unable to shake the feeling of curious eyes. Looking back, I caught their heads whipping away.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I reached into the basket, took out a menu, and sat back in the booth. “You’d just think their mommas would’ve taught them that starin’ is rude.” I lowered my focus to the foggy, plastic cover and flipped it open but not without peeking up at Peter. His brows were pinched together like they always were whenever he’d heard something strange. Almost skeptical, but this time the apple of his cheek was lifted ever so slightly. Like he was smiling. And if it wasn’t for his face leaning into his hand, with his fingers splayed across that very cheek, I would’ve seen that smile.

“What? Why you lookin’ at me like that?” I asked, suspicious as to what was running through his mind.

“Nothin’.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “No reason,” he said and reached into the basket for a menu of his own.

Whatever it was that I’d said or done, it didn’t matter as it brought that smile and light to his face again. Even if it was for only a brief moment. Biting my bottom lip, I returned my gaze to the choices of food. I flipped through the menu.

“You know what you’re gonna get? I haven’t been here in years, so I don’t know what’s good anymore,” I said. “Now that I am here, I don’t think I am all that hungry.”

“Not even for a good burger and fries? Maybe even a milkshake? You’re eating for two, aren’t you?”

“You know that’s a myth, right? You can eat what you normally would eat during the first trimester but by the second I had to up my calories by three hundred fifty, and by the third—?” I paused, catching his full attention. He didn’t say a word and just waited, keen to know more. “And right now, it’s four hundred and fifty calories.” I fumbled over my words and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I-I read it in a magazine.”

“Huh.” He nodded, offering little reaction as he scratched his beard. “You learn something new every day.”

A frail hand then set down two sets of cutlery in front of us. “Welcome to Sunny’s. I’ll be your waitress tonight. Name’s Martha.” A woman in her mid fifties had walked up to our table. She had gray, kinky curls atop her head and smelled of overripe fruit. Martha reached into the pocket of her white apron, taking out a notepad and a red pen. “Can I get you two anything to drink? We’re having a special tonight. Buy one—Good Lord Almighty, what happened to you?” She gaped at Peter. Even her downturned eyes were now full and wide. Then they fell upon me, then to my stomach, and then back at Peter, who stopped scratching his jaw. “You alright there?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m fine, ma’am. I’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the back of his ear.

“Uh-huh.” Only after giving Peter another once over did Martha look away and say, “We’re havin’ a special tonight. Buy one entree and get the next one half off. The buttermilk pancakes are my favorite, and they’ll fill you right up, honey, since you’re eating for two.” She smiled. I bit the tip of my tongue, resisting the urge to explain the myth once again, and offered a smile in return. “You two know what you’d like, or do you need more time to look over the menu?”

“Uh, I’m gonna have a black coffee. And the Sunny’s burger with extra bacon. No cheese. Medium well. And is there any chance you could also add another patty on the side?” Peter asked.

“Sure.” Martha regarded me once again. “And you, honey? What would you and the baby like?”

“I’ll get the same thing. Well done, please. With two patties and two slices of cheese. And make sure they add ’em, or I’ll know. Also, is there any way they can not add salt to the fries?”

“I can ask,” Martha said.

“If they can’t, it’s fine. I’ll just get the salad then. And I’m gonna have a glass of apple juice. With a straw. No ice,” I said with a smile until I noticed the stillness of her pen and the thinning of her red lips.

“You want the dressin’ on the side with that?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“You sure about that?”

“ Yeah.”

“Alright.” Martha took our menus and walked away, shaking her head.

When I looked at Peter, he was staring at me, strangely intrigued. “What? I know what I like. Nothing wrong with that. More people should know what they want. Especially when it comes to food.”

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he stated, a subtle tone of humor laced through his voice.

“Got it from my mama. Never really liked it,” I unthinkingly admitted. Peter slowly nodded and looked over to the window with a big yawn. Bit by bit, his tired eyes slowly began to close.

Unable to resist it any longer, I slipped my swollen feet from my sandals. I couldn’t hold back an “mmm” of relief as I propped them up on the seat across from me, stretching my achy legs and feet. Using my right toes, I pressed them on top of the others and bent them till I heard a satisfying crack. Switching to the other foot to do the same thing, it was then I realized Peter was intently watching my feet. I expected a sneer or a comment of disgust. Instead, he turned to the window but not without glancing at my feet one last time, holding back a smile.

“You know, you should take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

“I don’t like cameras.”

“ Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“There’s always a reason why someone doesn’t like somethin’. So why don’t you like them?”

“Are you one of those people who needs to find the answers no matter what in order to satisfy their curiosity?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Just a hunch.”

Ten minutes had passed without any further explanation. When he closed his eyes again, his head began to bob and droop, but he quickly caught himself and patted his cheek. Another yawn escaped him. Martha returned with our drinks, looking between Peter and me with pursed lips.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Yes, thank you.” Peter gave her a sincere but tired smile, and Martha left without a word. He sighed, reaching for two packets of sugar, muttering, “I really hope she didn’t spit in my coffee.”

I leaned forward, searching for any spit particles floating in my drink. “She didn’t in mine.”

“Then I’ll keep havin’ hope.”

I bit my bottom lip and smiled, watching him empty the packets of sugar. Gently setting the glass on my belly, I took a much-needed sip. My shoulders relaxed. The heavenly aroma of greasy burgers and sizzling bacon emanated from the kitchen, and my stomach growled in anticipation. Peter looked up, his brows raised. A grin stretched from one side of my face to the other, showing every tooth. He lowered his head and let out a breathy chuckle before taking a sip of his coffee. Martha walked over with a tray and set down our plates of food. I sat upright in excitement and set the glass of apple juice to the side.

I smiled. “ Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Uh-huh.” Martha turned away.

I looked at my unsalted fries and double cheeseburger, plucking off the red onions. The sound of chewing and a low soft “hmm” made me raise my head as Peter took a large bite of his burger. He picked up a piece of soggy lettuce that slipped out from the bun, and once he was satisfied with its placement, assured no condiments would drop and dampen the enjoyment of his meal, only then did he take another bite.

The way he fixed his meal reminded me of the times my mama used to take care of her Portulacas. Everything had to be in its place, with the soil gently patted to perfection before she could pull herself away from the masterpiece that she took great pride in tending. I never thought I’d be envious of a flower. I didn’t even know what envious meant at the time. I only longed for the day she’d look at me the same way.

The few men from the bar turned their heads, hearing the low hum of Peter’s throat as he ate. Peter stopped chewing, and his finger paused from swirling the fry in the ketchup, as he finally realized I had been staring. He raised his head and regarded me, slowly beginning to chew again. After swallowing his food and wiping his mouth with a napkin, he spoke. “ Somethin’ wrong?”

“ No.”

“Then why aren’t you eating?” he asked. “Did they not cook it all the way through? Cause I could—?”

“No. No, they did,” I reassured him, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The humming started again until I placed six fries on the cheeseburger and caught him staring at me with a mouthful of food. “What? Don’t knock it till you try it,” I said and picked up my burger, taking a bite. I groaned in delight, shutting my eyes.

We lapsed back into silence as Peter downed his burger in less than ten minutes. Setting down my half-eaten burger, I placed my hand over my belly. Peter wrapped the second patty in a napkin like a safety blanket and carefully tucked it in his back pocket.

Taking the last sip of apple juice, I leaned back and said, “I didn’t think I’d be that hungry.”

Martha appeared from the corner, saying, “Can I get you two anything else? Any more coffee?”

“No, thank you, ma’am. We’ll just take the check.” Peter stood from the booth. “Unless you want somethin’ else,” he said to me.

I shook my head. “No. I’m full.”

“Alright, I’ll be back in a jiff,” he said. “Just gonna use the bathroom real quick before we go.” He walked past Martha, giving her an affable smile. “Thanks again, ma’am. Have a good night.”

“ You, too.”

I slipped my feet through my sandals and wiggled my toes one last time. Martha slipped her notepad into her apron and glanced back one last time before placing her hand on my shoulder.

“Honey, you okay? You want me to call the cops?”

“What? Oh no, ma’am. You got it all wrong. It’s-it’s not what it looks like. Really. He—?”

“Honey, I’ve heard every excuse there is. It’s not my first time comin’ across a girl like you—?”

“Ma’am, it’s not what you think. Really. You got it all wrong. He wouldn’t ever hurt me.”

She placed her hands on her hips and shifted her weight, sighing heavily once she realized I wasn’t going to say another word. “Well, the last thing I’m gonna say is that you and your baby don’t deserve to go through that. Shouldn’t even have gone through it to begin with,” Martha said, setting down the check. “There’s no shame in leavin’, honey,” she said and walked away with our dirty dishes.

Though I wondered how many times Mama had been questioned like this, I also wondered how many times she said no. And how many times she reassured them with a smile. At five years old, I remember making a wish for my mama. That maybe, one day, someone big and strong would take away my pa.

A pair of heavy boots scraping against the floor made me look up to see Peter, who had stopped three feet away, his expression soft. My tears blurred his face, and I hastily swiped my hand across my cheek, giving him a quick smile. He reached into his back pocket, taking out his wallet.

“You alright? You look sick. Was it the meat?” he asked. “It was a bit pink in the middle.”

“ I’m okay.”

“Well, I’ll get you a bottle of water when we get to my truck. Okay?” He began to count the dollar bills. “Hey, I know it’s not far, but do you need to use the bathroom before we go?”

“No, I’ll be fine.” I stood up with a grunt of effort. “You know, I read today in Reader’s Digest that a food critic in Minnesota didn’t check to see if his meat was cooked all the way and almost died of E. coli,” I said. Peter stopped counting and lifted his eyes momentarily to the wall and then to me.

“What? It’s just funny. Not him almost dying. That ain’t funny at all. Just that I read that today and then I had a burger. Which is what he ate. You know? Cause I ate the same thing.”

After another second, his attention returned to the dollar bills. He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. I caught the hint of a small smile. As he slipped the bills underneath his cup of coffee, I couldn’t help but stare at the total. My first instinct was to reach for my chest. He placed his wallet back into the pocket of his jeans.

“What is it?” he asked. I regarded him. “What, you don’t like odd numbers or somethin’?”

“ No.”

“Huh,” he muttered, his brows pulling together as if he had an inkling to what the reason could be. “Do you think even numbers are good luck?” He asked and walked unusually close by my side as we made our way across the diner, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“ Yeah.”

“Why?” he asked and held open the door.

When I glanced up, I caught his curious waiting gaze. “You know, you don’t have to do this.”

“Uh ... do what?”

“I really don’t need people trying to make conversation with me just to make me ... feel better. I’ve had enough of that these past seven months,” I said, expecting him to call me the one thing I hate the most.

“I know I don’t need to. It’s just ... I never really know how to go about this,” he admitted in a soft tone. Even though his eyes were conflicted, the vulnerability in his voice struck me hard in the chest. “I know I haven’t ...” he paused, unsure of how to continue. “I’ve just never really been good at talkin’.”

I stepped outside. “You’re not that bad.”

“ Really?”

“ Yeah.”

He nodded, following by my side. “So, why do you not like them? The uh, numbers.”

“It’s a long story.”

A couple turned their heads toward us before they walked in whispering to each other.

We headed down the ramp, making our way toward the truck. “Well,” he began and stopped in his tracks to look at me, opening the passenger side door. “Nine is divisible by three. So that’s good luck in my book.”

I smiled and climbed into the truck. Peter shut the door and jogged around, sitting down beside me. The engine revved to life, and I shifted, pressing my knees together, struggling to find a comfortable position. He looked over and lifted a brow, watching me slump back into the seat.

“You okay there?”

I blew a strand of hair from my face. “I think that second apple juice was a bad idea.”

“Do you wanna run back inside, or do you think you can hold it until I get you home?”

“No, I’m good.”

“You sure? Cause if you need to go, you should go,” he insisted sincerely. I looked at him.

“ I’m good.”

He nodded, saying, “Alright,” and glanced over at me one last time before reversing out of the parking lot.

At first, I did mind the mixed smell of Harley and Peter’s sweat. But now, I didn’t so much. In fact, it had become a bit peaceful. Rearranging myself in the seat again, I stretched each leg outward and sighed in relief. I then caught his head turning back to center. Though it was pitch black, the dashboard lights were enough for me to trace the slope of his nose and chin. His tired eyes focused on the road, but what caught my attention was the tapping of his pointer and middle finger. Every several seconds he’d tap the wheel three times, then pause, and tap three times again. Like Ray who always had to tuck in his shirt one last time before leaving or Arlene who always had to file her nails on Wednesdays. I always wondered why, but I never mustered up the courage to ask them.

“Why do you do that?”

His fingers stopped tapping.

“ Do what?”

“That. With the wheel ... Is that just another old habit of yours, or is it somethin’ else?”

“Yeah, it’s—it’s a few things. What about you? What’s your thing with the even numbers?”

“Why do you wanna know so bad?”

“Cause I wanna know.”

I looked away.

“You know, you’re not like many people. Not a lot of people would care to know somethin’ like that. Even if they’d ask me, I’d think they were just tryin’ to be nice. I don’t think my pa has ever asked me that. About my thing with the numbers,” I thought out loud. “I think he’d just make fun of it, like he did with a lot of things. That’s why I said you’d be a great father. Cause the day I told him that I was pregnant, he said, ‘Well, guess you’re gonna get fat. No boy is gonna take you to the prom now.’” I let out a small laugh and looked back at Peter. He stared ahead, seeming to dwell on my words.

There was a glint of fury building in his eyes, like a sandstorm about to break free. The second his eyes landed back on my face, his expression immediately softened, and the storm settled. I sat there unsure of whether to continue or not. “I just ... I always wanted a baby of my own. Since I was little, I knew I wanted to be a momma. I just thought I would’ve been married when it happened. I thought of a lot of things ... that’s why I said what I said the other day,” I admitted, unsure of why this suddenly surfaced. Was it because of what had happened? Or was it just because I could? That for some inexplicable reason, I had a feeling he wouldn’t ever repeat these words outside of this truck. I looked down at my round stomach. “I know my pa isn’t the greatest man, but I’d like to think he was. I think he just ... I don’t think he ever reckoned on being such a young parent. Not a lot of people do.”

“ Huh.”

“ What?”

“Nothing, you’re just ...” He paused. “H-How old are you again? Twenty?”

“ Eighteen.”

Both his brows raised, and he nodded, saying, “Well, you certainly don’t talk or hold yourself like an eighteen-year-old. That’s for sure.”

“My mama said I’m an old soul.”

He quickly laughed, catching me off guard. I caught a glimpse of a smile just as the truck came to a harsh stop, throwing us forward. His face and body became still, eyes wide, as the headlights cast a glow upon the animal. Its pig-like nose twitched, and its teeth clacked. Peter exhaled, watching the family of javelinas safely cross the road. That’s when I felt the warm and protective embrace around my hand. I looked down at my fingers, which were tightly woven with his.

“Peter, can I have my hand back?”

He glanced down at our hands and quickly released his grip. I stretched out my fingers, relieved.

“Sorry.” A crooked, almost boyish grin spread across his face. He turned to the road, his ears fully red in realization. “I think ... I’m still a bit on edge. Sorry. I-I didn’t hurt your hand, did I?”

“N-no, you didn’t.”

He nodded and hesitated as if he were about to speak, but instead he lifted his foot off the brake, letting the truck move forward.

The redness began to fade across my left hand where just moments ago his fingers were wrapped around mine. And I’d bet all the money I had stashed away in the Pampers box that that would be the only time he’d ever touch me. Though it didn’t take long for him to return to his usual stoic self, it was still plain as day on his face. The regret. The regret of what he did to my pa. I was the reason he had unleashed that side of himself. But the little girl in me wasn’t scared. In fact, she was relieved. Grateful, even. And at the same time, mad at herself for letting such a thing happen to her pa.

I now had a pain wrangling my own mind and heart. A kind of pain I reckoned would take a toll on me that would last for days. And I fought with all my strength to keep my eyes open. But inevitably, the temptation of sleep won. A gentle rock and a small thud woke me up. I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust to the glare of the trailer’s porch lights. Slowly sitting upright, I winced, catching Peter’s glance.

“ You alright?”

“I’m fine. I’m just tired,” I said. “Thank you again for ... for driving me home. And the food.”

He nodded. “No problem. I hope it, uh, made you feel better.”

I turned ahead and sat there, uncertain of what else to say or do. Bringing my attention up from my lap, I stared at the trailer. As tired as I was, no part of me wanted to step inside. If I did, it would then mean I’d willingly welcome this new day. And the day after that, just waiting for the repercussions of my choices. Waiting to feel regretful of them. About what Peter did to my pa. I looked at him. He was still facing forward. Unable to take the silence any longer, I reached for the handle just as he spoke.

“Look, I—?I’d feel a lot better if we—?”

“I said I’m fine, Peter.”

He turned away, and his lips thinned into a scowl. “If you say fine one more time, Grace, I swear I’m gonna turn this truck around and start driving again till you tell me the truth. I’m—?”

“You really want the truth? You wouldn’t be asking me this right now if I didn’t have a baby. You wouldn’t be doin’ all this. No people like to help just ’cause they can. I’m fine. So lay off.”

As quick as I was to open the door, his hand was just as quick to close it. “You think I regret it?” he asked harshly, the intensity of his voice taking me aback. “The only thing I regret, Grace, is that I didn’t get there quick enough. Cause if I had, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt,” he said, his distraught voice striking a twinge of guilt in my chest. “And you wanna know another thing? You’re better off without that sad excuse of a father. I’ve been around long enough to know what kind of man he is. And I regret saying such a thing, but my point stands. There would be one less woman abused in this already godforsaken world. You got it? So, before you put words in my mouth, maybe stop and think. I wouldn’t have done anything differently. Pregnant or not. You’re still trying to survive in this world as much as I am.”

There was no shroud of doubt on his face. Nothing but a solid certainty that I knew couldn’t be breached. Never had I heard someone say those words aloud before. The very words that my soul had been crying out for. Words that made me feel so guilty. I did love my pa, but only because the little girl inside still wanted that pa who held me on his shoulders and bought me a root beer float every Friday. With our eyes locked on each other, the impulse to cry rose, and I hastily climbed out of my seat.

“Grace, wait. Grace, I’m sorry.” He jumped out of the truck, catching up to me as I made a beeline to the trailer. “Grace. I’m sorry. That might’ve been a bit harsh. I just ... I’m not—?”

I turned back to him and cried out, “Just go away!”

He stopped. His sorrowful, gentle expression did something to my stomach; it made me want to run into his arms. And for some reason, standing here, right now, across from him, I believed he could see it on my face, even through the tears. I quickly walked away, retreating inside.