Pity Please (Pity Series Book 7), page 12
She claps her hands like she’s about to give me a standing ovation. “I live in the apartment above the yarn store. We’re neighbors!”
“I’m happy to meet you, neighbor,” I tell her. Then turning toward the door, I add, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hurry over to Rosemary’s to get my cookies. Faith isn’t there but her husband, Teddy, is. I still can’t get over having a real movie star living in town. I mean, Teddy Helms is a big deal and people the world over know who he is.
“Allie!” he greets enthusiastically. “We miss you. How are you doing?”
“I’m good, Teddy. How are you?”
“No complaints. I leave in a month for another film so I’m hanging out with my family as much as I can.”
“Are Faith and the girls going with you this time?” From what I understand, they usually go together.
“They’ll be here most of the time. The girls just started preschool, and Faith wants them to have a routine. I’ll come home every weekend that I’m able.” He takes a breath, and asks, “Now, what can I get for you?”
“In addition to teaching, I’m also coaching basketball,” I explain. “I’d like to pick up an assortment of three dozen cookies for my team.” I figure I’ll go ahead and get them for the boys, too. After all, we do practice with them.
“Cool,” he says. He packages the cookies and hands me the bag. “They’re on the house today.”
“No way,” I tell him. “I’m paying.”
He shakes his head. “We are very community minded here at Rosemary’s, and we like to support the kids. Plus, Faith would kill me if I charged you.”
“Teddy,” I tell him, “I want to come back and get cookies all the time, but I won’t feel comfortable doing that if you don’t charge me.”
He thinks about this for a minute before deciding, “Fine. You can pay, but only half price and that doesn’t start until your next visit.”
Taking the bag from him, I say, “Thank you. I appreciate it and I know the kids will, too. Tell Faith hi for me.”
“Will do!” Before I can leave, he tells me, “You got another delivery today. I left it inside the door to your apartment.”
After thanking him, I walk back outside, wondering which of my new purchases arrived today. I’m looking forward to finding out when I get home. Although, I’m kind of hoping it isn’t more lamps. I’ve gone a little crazy without realizing it.
For now, though, I need to get back to school so I’m not late for my sophomore English class. So far, today is a good day. I seem to have made a new and unexpected friend. My old boss gave me a great deal on cookies, and now I get to go back to school where I will see Noah again.
I suppose he’s also become my friend. While my feelings for him are mixed, as in, there’s part of me that yearns for more than a platonic relationship, I’m still glad to have him back in my life.
Hopefully, in time, I can make him forget what a pathetic fangirl I used to be. The list of ways I embarrassed myself is truly legendary.
Out of nowhere, a startling image pops into my head. It’s of me and Noah posing for a picture like the ones my parents like to have taken. My mouth goes dry at the thought, and I have to force it to go away.
Noah and I are only friends and that’s all there is to it. I repeat this a few times trying to convince myself, but the truth is I wish it was something more.
CHAPTER TWENTY
NOAH
Allie brought cookies to practice today, which was really nice of her. I don’t know why I was surprised that she got enough for everyone, but that’s apparently the kind of woman she is—totally thoughtful.
While the team practices dribbling drills, I call Jordan over for a chat. He’s a good-looking kid with his wavy blond hair and brown eyes. He’s also one of the few naturally talented kids here. In fact, if we do better this season, he might have some prospects to play ball in college, even if it’s just for a division three school.
“What’s up, Coach?” Jordan stops in front of me with a confused expression on his face.
“I’ve been hearing things around school,” I tell him.
Before I can finish my sentence, his shoulders slump low. “About me and Margie?”
“Yeah.”
“Look, Coach, I don’t want any of that to get in my way of playing ball. I promise we’re taking care of things.”
I can see he’s defensive, and that’s not what I’m after. “I heard you and Margie broke up.”
He looks down at his shoes guiltily before saying, “She wants to have the baby. I don’t.”
“How are your parents taking it?”
With a loud sigh, he confesses, “They don’t know yet. Or if they do, they haven’t mentioned it to me.”
“Don’t you think you should tell them?” I ask. “From what I’ve been able to gather, most of the high school already knows. You don’t want them to find out from someone else.”
Jordan shifts nervously from side-to-side. “That’s the thing, though. Everyone knows and they haven’t said anything to me yet. If they know, they probably just want the problem to go away so they never have to talk to me about it.”
“It doesn’t sound like that’s going to happen.” The look of raw agony on his face tugs at my heartstrings.
“Coach, I want to go to college. After that, I want to move somewhere across the country and have a big life. I don’t want to be like Alfonse’s parents, stuck in Elk Lake because they made a bad decision. Do you know what I mean?”
“I don’t think having Alfonse was a bad decision,” I tell him. But I do know what he means. I felt like that when I was his age. Kids who grow up in a small town tend to either stay put and raise another generation in their hometown, or they run fast and hard to reinvent themselves elsewhere. “Your dreams are still an option, Jordan. But you can’t walk away from your current responsibilities.”
“I offered to pay for the abortion.”
“Which Margie doesn’t want,” I remind him.
“If she has this baby, I’m going to be on the hook for child support until it turns eighteen.” The panic in his tone is evident. “And if that happens, I won’t be able to go to college because I’ll have to go to work to make money.”
“That’s why you need to talk to your folks,” I tell him. “You need to find out where they stand and what kind of help they’re willing to offer.”
“They’re going to be so disappointed in me.” Shaking his head, he adds, “They aren’t the kind of people who believe in kids having kids. They think it’s low class. That’s why Margie needs to have an abortion. So this mess can disappear, and we can both get on with our lives.”
“Not that it’s my business,” I say, “but would you and Margie get back together if she got an abortion?”
“I doubt it.” He sounds guilty and sad at the same time. “It would just be a reminder of all of this. And I don’t want to think about it again. Not ever.”
“Do you think Margie’s ever going to forget? Even if she has an abortion?”
He closes his eyes and exhales loudly. “She could if she tried.”
I take his arm and lead the way over to the bleachers before sitting down. Once we’re both settled, I tell him, “A lot of people already know, Jordan. As such, Margie’s life will never be normal again.”
“How do you figure?” he wants to know.
“As far as the town goes, she will always be …” I make quotation marks in the air before adding, “The girl who had an abortion in high school, or the girl who had a baby in high school.” I let that soak in for a minute. “Meanwhile, you’ll simply move on with your life, carrying little, if any, stigma about her choice.”
Jordan looks like he’s about to cry. “That’s the thing, though, Coach. It’s her choice, not mine. So why should I carry any responsibility?”
This right here is one of the many reasons children shouldn’t have children. “You participated, Jordan. And if you aren’t prepared to take responsibility for your actions, you shouldn’t have done what you did.” Hammering my point home, I tell him, “It took two people to get Margie pregnant.”
“But only one of those people gets to decide how to handle it!” he exclaims heatedly.
“Son,” I say like I’m ninety, “if you have an open line of communication then I’m sure Margie will let you help decide how to proceed.”
He stands up abruptly and shouts, “I don’t want to be a father!”
Luckily the gym is echoing with the sound of bouncing balls, so no one seems to hear him. “It might be too late for that. You need to stand up and be accountable. You also need to talk to Margie and tell your parents. This is not something you can hide from.”
The poor kid looks like he’s going to burst into tears, and honestly, I can’t blame him. No high school senior expects their life to alter this dramatically.
“My parents are going to kill me,” he says with certainty. “Either that or they’re going to throw me out, and then what will I do?”
“Your parents are going to find out either way, Jordan. And it seems to me that they would much rather hear the news from you than from some random person on the street.”
“They’ll hate me.”
“I’m guessing they might be disappointed,” I tell him. “But they love you, too. You need to give them a chance to show that.” Before I can think it through, I offer, “If you want, I can be with you when you tell them.”
His eyes open so widely you’d think he was being offered a lifeline right before succumbing to drowning. “Would you, really?”
“I really would,” I tell him. “Why don’t you have them stop by the school after practice tomorrow morning. You can tell them in my office.”
“My dad golfs on Saturdays,” he says. I know he’s trying to find a way out of doing it so soon.
“This is more important,” I tell him. “It’s the right thing to do, Jordan.” I hurry to add, “Doing the right thing isn’t always easy, but it shows good character. Good character that I know you have.”
Jordan stands up like he’s got a thousand-pound barbell on his shoulders. “Fine. We’ll be here.”
Reaching out my hand, I pat him on the shoulder. “Whatever happens, I promise to help you get through this.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Now head back out there and burn off some steam. It’ll wear you out and help you get a good night’s sleep tonight.”
“That won’t be possible. My world as I know it ends tomorrow, which is not something I will be able to put out of my mind.”
“Try to think of it as your new life starting tomorrow.”
He grimaces painfully. “That’s like telling a guy on death row that his execution is going to be a new beginning.”
I could get all philosophical and tell him that it would be a new beginning, of sorts, but I know Jordan needs to feel what he’s feeling. Right now, that’s a lot of fear and worry.
I watch with a combination of pride and concern as he walks back out onto the court. There’s no way tomorrow will be easy on Jordan, regardless of whether or not his parents support him. But there’s also no getting out of it. You can’t keep something like a pregnancy a secret, at least not for long.
Allie blows her whistle and separates the kids into two mixed teams of both boys and girls. Then she directs them to move to opposite sides of the gym. She stands in the middle of the court and calls out, “I want to see chase down drills. No fouling, finish with your left hand, and watch your angles!” She sounds as tough as a WNBA coach, which makes me smile.
Once the teams are moving up and down the court, she walks over to me and asks, “What did you talk to Jordan about?”
“I told him he needs to step up.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It starts with him telling his parents. He’s going to do that here after practice in the morning.”
Her blue eyes appear to double in size. “With you?”
I nod. “Yeah. He’s scared to tell them. I figure he needs the support of another adult.” We stand silently for several moments, before I ask, “You want to eat together again tonight?” She squints her eyes in a way that makes me nervous, so I add, “As friends.”
“I can’t.” Then she looks around like she’s afraid of being overheard. “I need to see my parents. They blew me off the other night and since then I’ve found out some disturbing news.”
“You’re not pregnant, too?”
“Not even close,” she says. “My parents have started having some sexy photographs taken and they are being used to advertise the shop where they had them done.”
Laughter bursts out of me like machine gun fire. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack. I was walking down the street this afternoon and there they were, Margaret and Bob, staring into each other’s eyes like they were about to … you know …”
“Did the photographer get their permission to use the picture?”
“That’s the most surprising part of this whole thing. Not only did they give her permission, but they’ve been having pictures like this taken for three years! Three! I didn’t know they even, you know, did that kind of stuff anymore.” She looks adorably uncomfortable.
“They’re only what, in their fifties or sixties …” I start to say but the look she gives me causes me to stop that line of conversation. “It should be comforting to know that they still love each other.”
“It would be more comforting if they kept it to themselves and weren’t parading it around town.”
“Don’t be a killjoy.” I’m only semi-teasing.
“What would you do if it were your parents?” she demands.
“Your point is taken,” I tell her.
Crossing her arms across her chest, she arches an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”
“Do you want to meet tomorrow?” I ask. “I can tell you how it goes with Jordan and his parents.”
“I’m meeting a friend tomorrow, but we could get together after that. How about at Rosemary’s at two?”
“It’s a date,” I tell her. She gives me her standard look of panic, so I tell her, “People do use that term platonically.”
“Of course they do.” She’s quick to add, “But I think we should call it a friendly get-together.”
I snort laugh at that. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow for our friendly get-together. But we still have another hour of practice.”
“About that,” she says. “Would you mind taking over. I really want to talk to my parents.”
“I’ve got it,” I tell her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I watch as she walks out of the gym. Even though I know I’m probably not going to stay in Elk Lake long term, I’m very happy that I came back. And a big part of that is due to Allie Rogers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALLIE
Both of my parents’ cars are in the driveway when I pull up to their house. While I’m relieved to finally tell them I no longer live there, I’m scared about bringing up the matter of their suggestive hobby. Why in God’s name couldn’t they have just kept that part of their relationship to themselves? Why couldn’t they have taken up couples knitting or ping pong even?
The front door is locked, so I put my key in and open it. I nearly choke in surprise when I walk in to find my parents kissing each other with intent. This goes on for a long minute before they realize they have an audience.
My mom steps out of my dad’s arms and asks, “Allie, what are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” While that’s not really true, they don’t know that so shouldn’t they be acting a little more discreet?
“I thought you lived above Rosemary’s,” my dad says.
“How do you know that?”
“Mrs. Hocklemeyer told your mom.” This is said like it’s obvious Mrs. Hocklemeyer would know. Not that I know who she even is.
“How does Mrs. Hocklemeyer know where I live?”
“Her son delivered your new mattress to your apartment,” my mom says. Her demeanor suddenly shifts to anger. “When were you planning on telling us?”
“Two nights ago, when you stood me up for dinner,” I hiss.
“Oh, that.” A touch of something resembling guilt fills her tone. “Your dad and I forgot we had a previous engagement.”
“You forgot that you were going to take your clothes off and have pictures taken?” I’m practically yelling at them, which is not how I saw our conversation going. I thought we’d sit down, and I’d tell them I moved out. I expected some tears and worry. When I had them where I wanted them—full of contrition—I was going to drop the bomb that I knew about their secret hobby.
Instead of being shocked that I know what they’re up to, my mom asks, “How did you find out?”
“There’s a picture of you both on Main Street.” I take turns death glaring them.
Instead of feeling shame like I expected, my mom claps her hands and practically jumps up and down. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I forge past them and plop down on the couch before saying, “It’s mortifying!”
“Don’t be a prude, honey.” This from my mom who is standing in front of me looking awfully proud of herself.
“Aren’t you embarrassed to have the whole town see you like that?” I demand heatedly.
“Your mother is a stunning woman, Allie,” my dad says. “I’m proud of her.”
My head swivels so quickly in his direction I almost give myself whiplash. “She is very pretty,” I agree, “but how is it that you want the world to see you like … like … a pair of geriatric lovers?!” I don’t mean to sound quite so accusatory, but that’s exactly how I feel.
“First of all, Allison,” my mother says. “We are not geriatric. We are middle-aged and we both look darn good.”
“Why not just take a nice headshot then?” I want to know. “Taking your clothes off and you know …” I wave my hands through the air for effect. Unable to find the words to finish my sentence, I declare, “It’s indecent!”
“We’re married,” my dad says.
