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“I don’t care about Ferry money,” I tell her. “I don’t need to ‘cash in.’ I’ve got my own money that I worked for and earned on my own merits instead of spending my life hunting down someone who could give it to me. Get out of my way.”
Gloria’s eyes narrow, her lips parted slightly with the offense she’s taken from my not-so-subtle comment. I have to stifle a groan. Just the thing I didn’t want to do. Set her off.
Her jaw twitches, and she steps out of the way.
As I walk past her, though, she has a final word. “We’ll talk later. Count on it.”
Seriously, they probably wouldn’t even look for the body.
Mama gives me a strange look when I visit to drop off her meds — sure enough, George texted me about picking them up because he was “busy” — and I find myself attempting to make a hasty exit.
“I had a strange dream the other night,” she says before I can escape.
“Oh?” I wonder. The look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know about what she’s thinking, but I feign ignorance anyway. “What about?”
“I was on the beach,” she says, her eyes going distant. “The beach where your father and I… anyway, there was a storm way out over the ocean, but there was no wind. And out of nowhere, these fish start leaping out of the ocean and onto the beach around me. Isn’t that funny?”
“That’s… funny all right. I’ve got to go, Mama.” I kiss her on the forehead.
“Did I ever tell you that before I even knew I was pregnant with you, I had a dream a lot like that? They say dreaming of fish is a signal of a pregnancy close to you…” She looks like she’s a combination of worried and near-ecstatic. And then her eyes drop to my belly.
“Uh… well, you know I don’t believe in that sort of thing, Mama.” It’s all I can think to say to throw her off my scent. But the truth is, Mama’s had some accurate dreams before. Who knows what actually causes them — I refuse to believe it’s some supernatural gift of prophecy — but once she’s got her mind set on something because of them they usually self-fulfill.
In this case, though? I’d rather not think about it.
“You can talk to me, Janie,” she says quietly. “You know that, right?”
“What? Mama,” I sigh, and take her hand. “Of course I know that. But I have to go. Lots to do. Are… you and George coming to the lounge for the launch party?”
“I woul
dn’t miss it,” she assures me. “You know George doesn’t really like to go out, but I’ll be there, I promise.”
George doesn’t like spending money would be more accurate, and doesn’t like being seen in public with my mother. Never mind they’d never have to pay for a thing in my place. “We’ll go shopping before that,” I tell her. “Get you something sexy to wear, how’s that?”
Mama laughs, and that suspicion in her eyes is finally replaced with scandalized humor. “Oh, now… I don’t know about all that. I love you, baby girl.”
“I love you too, Mama.” With that, I’m finally out the door. Spooked, sure, but I’m at least reasonably certain my secret is still intact.
Not forever, though. In the mornings, I make a habit of checking the mirror to see if I’m showing. Day to day, I can’t really tell — probably the change is too gradual to track that way. Which is why I took a picture shortly after I had it confirmed and, like it or not, I look different.
Maybe Mama didn’t even have a dream. Maybe she’s just trying to find a way to get me to admit it. I feel awful for hiding it from her, but she would tell George and the boys, and they’d be all over it. Especially George — I’d never hear the end of how I got knocked up out of wedlock, never mind the fact that George has been married three times.
I have another checkup with Annie, so I head into town, keeping a wary eye out for any sign of Jake. Avoiding him is getting to be ridiculous. After having spotted him going into Ferry Lights a couple of times and even staying late at Red Hall to make sure he left before I did, I’ve started seeing him everywhere. I’m not even sure it’s him half the time, but I’ve left a nearly full cart of groceries at the store just because I thought I saw him walk into the aisle next to the one I was in.
Now, I expect him to pop out from behind any given corner, or show up at Red Hall, and the worst part is that I find myself hoping he will every time I stare at the slight bulge of my tummy.
What makes me more messed up? That I almost want him to know so that maybe we can work things out, even after he tricked his way into my pants? Or that I worry about the media shit-storm that would fall on my head if it got out? It’s a toss-up.
Mama dreamed about a storm, too. Who knows, maybe she really is a prophet.
As usual, being out in public makes me flustered and nervous. Any day now I’ll be heading outside with a shawl over my head and oversized sunglasses hiding my face like a fugitive. Annie gives me a sympathetic smile when she sees me.
“Let’s get you on the table,” she says. “Let me give you a lavender belly massage. It’ll help you both relax.”
“I know you probably believe in prophetic dreams,” I tell her, once I’m lying down on my back and I’ve gotten her caught up on recent events. “But it’s still kind of crazy, right?”
“Mother’s intuition, if you ask me,” Annie says. “How’s that?”
