– Sammy –
Threats
I stop just before my hand touches my front door, and I turn to watch the guys back out of my driveway and zoom away in Ang’s Charger. My stomach is cramped and tender from retching all day, and my eyes are swollen almost shut. Dry and itchy, they don’t even water anymore. I’ve cried all the tears I have.
When their tail lights disappear into the night, I turn back to the door, clasping the handle to unlatch it and head in as quietly as possible. I’m here to pack my bags, then I intend to sit on my bed awake all night. I only have eight hours until our agreed upon meeting time, and I intend to leave this place for the last time ever in seven.
My parents can go to hell.
Nothing changes. Nothing at all, except I leave a few days earlier than planned, and Sam and I get a baby to love.
I twist the handle on the heavy front door, and fall forward, tripping and catching myself against my father’s solid chest as he pulls me forward. “Get inside this house, right this second, Samantha!”
“Where the hell have you been?” my mother shrieks loudly. She tugs me from my father roughly, jerking my body so violently, a fresh bout of vomit surges high. I clamp my lips shut, but they’re forced open again when I call out in pain at my parent’s game of tug-of-war.
My mother tugs me left, my father tugs me right. My shoulder joints pop and my stomach heaves. “Stop. Let me go.”
“You won’t see that boy again, Samantha!”
“I will!” I pull with a strong tug, and rip my arms from their grasp. We all pant heavily to catch our breath, and I ignore the painful twinges my tiny angry seed inflicts inside my body.
I don’t need clothes. I don’t need any of my shit. I still have my money, spare jeans, and deodorant. The rest can be replaced. I turn on my heel, and quietly sobbing because I still have no shoes and my phone is still upstairs on my bed, so I can’t call Sam for a ride, I reach out for the door handle. I’ll walk as far as I have to, then Sam will fix it.
“Wenderson and Kale.”
My dad is using his professional voice, and my stomach drops out from beneath me. Bile rises in my throat at his simple threat. With narrowed eyes, I turn slowly and face my enemy. “What?”
“Wenderson and Kale,” he repeats arrogantly. “Henry Wenderson was eighteen years old when he had sexual intercourse with a seventeen year old Halle Kale.”
“No--”
“He was charged with a class A felony. He was sentenced to four and a half years in prison, and he’ll be labeled a sex offender for the rest of his life.”
I shake my head as brand new tears soak my lashes. “No. We’re the same age, and we’re in love.”
“Strong and Pauling. Gerry Strong was eighteen, and his high school sweetheart was seventeen. They didn’t even have sex. She gave that boy a blow job, and he was charged just like Wenderson. Six and a half years – it’s funny how he got more time. The law can be so odd.” Daddy shrugs his shoulders carelessly. “He’s on the sex offenders list, and he’ll never get to be that school teacher he always wanted to be.”
“Daddy… stop.”
“Did you know those Macchio kids will be removed and sent into the system if Samuel gets charged. That little girl… what is she? Eight? Nine? It would be negligent of the state to let her stay there. Who’s to say Sam wouldn’t turn his sights on that innocent little girl next?”
“Stop!” My back presses up against the door, like a small animal trapped in the hunter’s gaze. “You’re lying.”
“Did you know the chief would lose his job in a heartbeat…”
“Daddy, no--”
“Samuel doesn’t even have to be charged. Just the tiniest whiff of scandal and the old man will be out on his ass. I’ll make sure of it.”
My chest heaves and tears dribble down over my lips. “What do you want from me?”
“Leave him.”
“I can’t. I love him.”
“We’re going to the hospital tonight, Samantha, and taking care of the trouble your stupid mistakes got you in. Then we’re going on with our lives like you never knew that scumbag.”
“I’m eighteen now. I have plans with him. We made plans…”
“And plans can be changed.”
“There’s nothing you can offer me,” I argue defiantly. “Not my trust fund, not my college tuition. I took care of that already. I don’t need you.”
“But I’m not offering you anything,” he taunts. “I’m saying, if you don’t agree to my terms, he goes to prison, old man Turner collects cans off the side of the highway to pay his mortgage, and that sweet kid Kari goes into the system. I’m not offering you a cent, but I bet that entire family will hate you if you get them in trouble. You won’t have plans or a place to go when he’s in prison, and old lady Turner isn’t going to have you at her table.”
“Stop doing this,” I cry. “He hasn’t hurt you. The Turners are good people and they’ve never hurt you.”
“Good people don’t break the law, Samantha. Good men don’t have sex with and impregnate children.”
“It’s not like that! He’s only six months older than me.”
“Then it’s truly unfortunate that he couldn’t wait just a little bit longer, huh? He’s not the first man in the history of the world whose penis got him in trouble, but he’ll be the first and last to touch a Ricardo and get away with it.”
“I don’t believe you! I think you’re lying.”
“That’s impressive Ricardo arrogance, Samantha, but it won’t serve you this time. Call my bluff, I dare you. Either way, you and he will never see each other again. I don’t really care which way it goes down.”
Sweat and tears continue to mingle on my lips, dripping off my nose and chin and falling to my shirt. My angry seedling continues to revolt from inside, uncaring that I can’t handle a traitor from within right now. My hands continue to hold my aching pelvis, and my stomach roils with angry nausea.
I look from my horrible father and my eyes latch onto my mother’s. She and I haven’t had an amazing relationship. But she’s a mom, and mom’s want to protect their children… right?
“Momma? Please stop him.”
She wrings her hands together anxiously, but at my words, her chin snaps up and her eyes bore into mine. “Stop him?” She scoffs. “I want that boy out of your life, Samantha. Not only won’t I stop your father, but I’ll help him file the paperwork. Samuel Turner is trash, and he’s not for you. I didn’t carry and birth you, raise you, school you, dress you, just so you could marry someone like him!”
“Mommy--”
“It isn’t up for discussion. And your disappearing act today only proves how immature you are. You’re eighteen now, but you’re far from grown up. You’re not ready for the mess you’ve dropped yourself in. Go upstairs, clean up, then we’re going out.”
She steps forward, pulling at me just like their earlier game of tug-of-war, but I snap my arm back, crying out when I slam my elbow against the solid wooden door. “No!” My stomach rolls again as the now familiar nausea rolls over me, but I push it down. To be sick is to be vulnerable, and I can’t be vulnerable in front of these people. They’re not on my side. I side step my parents. My body shakes and my head pounds, but I move around them and bolster my voice. “I will not come with you, and I will not abort my baby. I’m not a Ricardo anymore. I’m a Turner, and I’m proud to be his. Call the cops, do what you have to, but we’ll fight you to the end. But know this, the only people who I won’t be seeing again is you. Families don’t do this to each other. Loving families don’t treat each other this way.”
I step away from my mother’s grabbing hands, and I hold in my pained sobs; it feels like my angry seedling is attempting to claw its way out of my stomach. My parents immediately step into action, but I run up half a dozen stairs before a solid hand snags my wrist, tripping me and almost dislocating my shoulder with the force of my sudden stop. I cry out again, sliding down the last couple stairs on my butt. I kick out at my father and dislodge his hand, but I freeze when I spot the tears in his eyes. I breathe through my teeth as the nausea and pain in my stomach reach unbearable levels.
“I’m asking you to stop, Samantha. I don’t have to have him charged. I just want my little girl to stop making mistakes. We can fix this and go on with our lives. I’ll leave the Turners alone. You have my word.”
I shake my head no, but the words don’t come out. Wind roars in my head, whooshing between my ears and deafening me, then as though my seedling finally succeeded in tearing through my stomach, an excruciating pain rips through my gut, replacing my ‘no’ with a scream and sobs. The vomit I was holding at bay comes singing up my throat so violently, I choke and gasp.
“Call an ambulance, Geraldine!”
***
“It’s just one of those things,” the doctor whispers to my daddy as they stand huddled on the other end of my dark hospital bed. I look around silently, relieved to realize the ever-present nausea is now gone, and my headache is better. I look to my left to find a needle in my arm, taped to the top of my hand, and a tube attached to a bag hung high over my head. A soft beep, beep, beep, relaxes me, but as soon as I notice my mother’s eyes on mine, my relaxation is gone and my heartbeat speeds up.
“She’ll be okay?”
“Yes, sir. She’ll be fine. One in every four women experience miscarriage in the first trimester. It’s really not as uncommon as society is led to believe.”
“I miscarried? My baby is gone?”
Both men turn at my words. My daddy’s eyes glitter with satisfaction that he won the war, and the doctor’s are sympathetic. He walks to the side of my bed opposite my mother, then placing his hand on top of mine for a gentle pat, he nods. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ricardo. Your baby is gone.”
“But--”
“It’s just one of those things that happens in life.”
“But--”
“And there’s no reason why you can’t try again one day. It just wasn’t meant to be this time.”
“Alright, doc.” My father grabs the kind doctor’s arm and pulls him away gently. “Thanks for your time. Samantha needs to rest now.”
He nods and looks at his watch. “He’s right. It’s very late. Get some rest, Samantha. I’ll be back in the morning to answer any questions you might have.”
“Where’s my baby right now?”
He stops on the spot, almost skidding in his shoes as he turns back to me. “Your fetus wasn’t even the size of a poppy seed yet. It was just a placenta smaller than--”
“Where is it?”
His eyes are soft and his brows low. He stares at me for a long minute, then sighs and stands tall again. “I’m sorry, but it’s gone. You passed it on your own. I’m sorry for your loss, Samantha.”
He leaves the room silently and shatters my already broken heart with the simple click of the closing door. Slow tears well up and slide over my cheek. I clench my fists closed as my father stands over me. He almost looks sorry, but his lips are too proud to ever get away with sincerity. “Nothing changes.”
“What?”
“Sam Turner still goes to prison, or you leave him. This hospital visit remains on record… nothing changes. Make your call now, or I make mine.”
I look from his eyes to my mom’s. She’s not even trying to look sorry. Shaking my head slowly, I turn back to my dad. “I hate you.”
He shrugs casually, but victory shines in his eyes.