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Following Angela, she thought maybe she was going to ask if she could go out with friends, a new thing lately as she was growing up. Alphé didn’t want her to, but Calista did interference for her.
“I got my period.”
Angela was almost fifteen. She was just getting it? Not knowing quite what to say, Calista decided it was a reason to celebrate.
“Congratulations! Do you have what you need?” she asked, assuming the child’s mother would have prepared her.
“No, nothing.”
“Come with me.”
Angela followed Calista back to the master suite. It was a first for Calista; she’d never felt one way or another about sharing Alphé’s bed, but on that Saturday, she felt embarrassed, hoping Angela didn’t mind that she was sleeping in Lola’s bed.
“Here, I have a closet shelf filled with stuff for just this thing,” Calista said, chuckling. “I have every product known to womankind. Is it a lot?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Do you have a lot of blood?”
Flushing, Angela shook her head.
“For light days, you can use this brand. See, it has a sticky strip that attaches to your underpants. Change it often, like every time you go to the bathroom or more if you need it. The key is to feel comfortable and be dry. Don’t conserve products. I mean, if there’s a drop, you can wait to change.
“Then at night, there’s this brand that is like wearing a diaper, but you won’t mess up your pjs.”
Finally relaxing, Angela laughed.
“You can use our bathroom if you like. I’ll let your dad know you’re sick of sharing with the kids.”
“Ugh, do you have to tell him?”
“No, but he loves you. You’re his firstborn child. Now that we know about theother thing, you’re his only natural daughter. I doubt he thinks that way, but it’s the truth.”
“Poor Dad.”
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ll stick a box of some of these different brands in your dresser. Will that work for you?”
She nodded, pleased and relieved.
While Calista gathered the boxes and followed Angela into her bedroom, a thought came to her, so powerful that she gasped.
“You okay?” Angela asked.
“Fine. Let’s stash these things so you have some privacy.”
After she had Angela’s needs taken care of, Calista went back into the bathroom and shut the door. Leaning against it with her eyes closed, she went through the days and weeks and months past, to the luncheon at Maggie’s house and the week that followed, the vision of Austin Macon kneeling between her legs, his penis erect, glistening with their mingled bodily fluids, and she turned around to the toilet and threw up.
In Katrina’s car, driving to Walmart for yet another pregnancy test, Calista intermittently howled in anguish and laughed hysterically.
“First, how do you know it’s not Alphé’s?” Katrina asked.
“Alphé had a vasectomy! You didn’t know that?”
Katrina grabbed her arm. “No! That asshole was trying to get me pregnant. Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure. I remember when he did it, after Lola lost the baby. He told anyone who would listen that that was the last straw.”
Seething, Katrina didn’t say more, but she was pretty sure she was pregnant, too. And if she was, and Alphé had had a vasectomy, the baby was Dave’s.
