Joan's life starts to slip sideways when a lost job, a sick Sam, and a concerned Aunt come together to shake her world -- in a way she never expected.

Chapter 20

Life Goes On

I must have had some disturbing dreams during the night. I woke up feeling unusually depressed. The last thing I remembered was my little fantasy of singing live onstage. Now, here it was seven a.m. Monday morning and I had to get ready for work.

My depression deepened as I sat down to relieve myself. The harsh reality of my maleness sent me spiraling downward faster. I wish I had an inkling of just why I was feeling this way. It didn’t make any sense. Everything was going good in my life. I climbed in the shower robotically and got ready for the day.

I felt a wee bit better as I got dressed and prepared for the insanely long day ahead. Maybe that’s what had me feeling down? Knowing that I’d be working till nine o’clock tonight? I was afraid to admit that the reason was a much simpler one and it was hanging between my legs.

For the first time in a long time Mom was at the kitchen table when I came downstairs. She even offered to make my lunch for me. I thanked her for the offer but prepared my own food. I was going to need some extra nourishment to take with me today. I hadn’t yet told her of my plan to work late into the evening. I’d simply planned on leaving her a note. That option was no longer open to me. "Mom," I began, "I have to work late tonight."

Of course the first two words out of her mouth were, "How late?" I told her that I hoped to be home by nine-thirty. She went ballistic. I explained the whole thing. Well, almost the whole thing. I didn’t tell her how much I was getting paid for the job. She finally relented. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it would probably be the same deal tomorrow. Somehow the fight with Mom had put a bit of bounce back in my step. For awhile there I was afraid that it was going to go the other way and I’d just go back to bed in total defeat.

Before heading out the door I ran up to the bathroom to take my pills. It promised to be a long day. Maybe I could hurt my leg sliding into second? I decided that I’d only schedule two "small" jobs for the rest of the week. Hopefully, I could have the weekend to myself. And no, I wasn’t going to go to Sam’s baseball game on the weekend. Well, I certainly didn’t want to. The day got off to a bad start. Mr. Ferris started begging me to work more hours. I told him that I couldn’t possibly work any more hours.

He half-threatened to let me go. I held my ground and told him that I understood, but I couldn’t possibly work any more hours. I almost told him that I’d considered calling out sick this morning. That I felt like I was doing him a favor by working for him at all. At one point I told him yet again that I’d understand if he needed to hire someone else that had more time to devote to the job. I found myself thinking that I’d better get down to the printer and order those business cards. The day was hardly under way and it promised to be a bad one.

By three o’clock I was over at Mr. Gatz’s house. I stopped at Mr. Hospin’s on the way and purchased the extension poles. He tried to engage me in friendly conversation but I really wasn’t in the mood. Damn if Gatz’s "great room" didn’t even look greater this afternoon. Thankfully, the room was as I’d left it. No need to lay down drop cloths everywhere. Mr.. Gatz stayed with me for a few minutes just to make sure I had everything set up ok, and then he disappeared.

The work went a lot faster than I thought it would. By nine o’clock I had all the cutting in done and two of the walls finished. Tomorrow I’d just have to finish the two walls and do a very small area of trim work. Mr. G was as helpful as he could possibly be. As I pedaled home I began to wonder if I wasn’t simply wasting my time sanding wood for Mr. Ferris. I wasn’t really learning things the way that I’d hoped when I began. In fact, aside from learning a bit about sanding between coats of stain, I’d learned nothing at all.

Perhaps my time would be better spent painting as often as possible. With the extra money I’d be earning I could buy all the shop tools that I’d need. I wasn’t abandoning my dream of creating fine furniture pieces, I just lacked the tools for the time being.

It was close to ten o’clock when I walked in the front door. Needless to say, Mom was quite upset. I told her that I’d be home much earlier tomorrow night; well, by seven anyway. I then asked her if she managed to get to the bank today. Of course, she had some excuse why she couldn’t make it. I wasn’t going to ask her for the money again. A cynic would have mused with regard to her offer that it was the thought that counts. Well, maybe I would ask her. With the extra money I could pick up a used bass and an amp.

I sat down at the kitchen table and wolfed down the remainder of my daily rations. I was beyond exhausted. A quick shower and I hit the floor just before eleven. I hoped that eight hours would be enough to sufficiently recover. As I’d been doing lately, I fell asleep listening to Fleetwood Mac on the stereo.

Tuesday morning Mom was still asleep when I left. This time I was able to leave her a note telling her that I’d be home by seven. Aunt Melissa was usually up by this time but there was no sign of her this morning. I felt a lot better this morning; like I’d somehow scaled some invisible hump.

I jumped right in with my staining when I got to work. I hadn’t been at it for half an hour when Mr. Ferris came over to me. "Joan, do you like working here?" He asked.

"Is there a problem Mr. Ferris? Isn’t my work up to par?"

He slowly shook his head from side to side and told me that my work was fine, but that I seemed to have lost my enthusiasm for the task. How one is supposed to maintain their enthusiasm for sanding wood was something that I still haven’t figured out. It was boring drudge work.

"Joan, it’s kind of late in the season, but I’m going to be breaking someone new in to take your job. You can stay and help them get acclimated if you want, or you can simply go about your business."

I really didn’t care about the job, but part of me was heartbroken. I felt rejected. What finally pushed me over the edge was when I saw Sarah walking up the driveway. She was to be my replacement. I couldn’t help laughing as she approached the garage. It was not joyous laughter.

"Mr. Ferris, I understand that you need someone who can devote more time to the job. I certainly don’t have any hard feelings. As for staying to train my replacement, I’m afraid that’s going to be impossible. To put it bluntly, Sarah and I just don’t get along. I’m sorry."

He told me that was all right. He paid me for Monday and told me he’d see me when school started. I tied Aunt Viv’s jewelry box to the bins on the back of my bike and pedaled my way home. Maybe I should have been upset about having been "dismissed" from my job, but in actuality I was relieved. Too much work, and too little money. I’d become spoiled by my painting escapades.

Aunt Melissa greeted me when I arrived home. She was just getting ready to head to the beach and asked me if I wanted to accompany her. She didn’t think it odd at all that I should return home from work an hour after I’d left.

I explained to her that I had quit my job and that I still had quite a lot of work to do. It would have been far easier finishing up Aunt Viv’s jewelry box at Mr. Ferris’ but, I could do it with the tools and supplies that I had at home. Of course, as soon as Aunt Melissa saw it she started going on and on about how pretty it was and how she needed a new jewelry box. I think it was a first for me, but I didn’t promise to build her one then and there. I’d certainly consider it when I had the time, but not at the moment.

I went in the house and made several calls attempting to line up painting jobs for later in the week. It took me ten calls, but I did manage to line up three jobs. I then called Mr. G and asked him if I could start early today. His reply: the sooner the better.

I couldn’t help but think of Sarah as I made my way over to his house. Did she really want my job? Or, did she just want it because I had it? And, I began wondering just what kind of additional hours Mr. Ferris planned on demanding from his help. Hell, he set the parameters for the job in the first place. He didn’t want us working too much and totally missing our summer vacation. Funny how philosophies change over time…

I finished up the great room at three o’clock on Tuesday. Mr. Gatz was beyond pleased with the results. He actually attempted to tip me, but I politely refused it. It was just another time I wish I’d had a camera with me to take some pictures. We parted on the greatest of terms and he promised to call me the next time he needed any painting done.

As for my "old" job, sure, come Thursday I’d miss the money from Mr. Ferris, but I wouldn’t miss working till seven o’clock at night. Besides, if I hustled I could use my time more productively. I just hoped Darla didn’t mention to Sarah that I was painting.. ha ha.. As easy as painting was, I was beginning to discover that there was "some" amount of skill involved and not everyone could do a first rate job.

The more I thought about my current situation on my way home, the more I realized just how much better off I was. I would make four times as much for the same time spent. And, if I wanted to take a day off, I could simply take a day off. It was an ideal situation, as long as I could keep the jobs coming in. I finally realized that I’d never have gotten anywhere without Mr. Hospin’s help. I hadn’t a clue as to how to thank him.

I stopped at the local printers and ordered up a thousand business cards. I put both the home number and my cell number on the cards. I decided to name my company "Painting by Joan." I also chose something that, according to the printer, no one had ever done before. I had a simulated splash of red paint in the upper left hand corner of each card. It cost a bit extra, but it was worth it. At least, I hoped it would be worth it. That bit of "red" would be an extra reminder to me every time I handed out a card. I gave Mr. Brewer a deposit and told him I’d be back on Friday to pick up my order.

Then, I’d be visiting everyone whose house I’d already painted. Well, all except the Whitcombs. I found myself wondering if they’d simply gotten used to their red kitchen. That reminded me, I really needed to put together some kind of contract.

I was the first to arrive home. It had been awhile since I’d made dinner so I decided that it was my turn. Funny, it took me all these years to figure out that Mom didn’t enjoy cooking. She sure had me fooled. Still, since I’d taken over the task, she never volunteered her time in the kitchen. Maybe she was just taking an extended break?

I had everything well under way when Aunt Mel arrived home. She didn’t seem the least bit put out by my presence. I’ve never known anyone like her before. She had the patience of a Saint. "So, you want to tell me what happened with your job?" She asked finally. I laughed and explained the situation to her. I simply didn’t have the kind of time to devote to it that Mr. Ferris required. I went on to explain that I hoped to keep just as busy with my painting. Time would tell on that one.

With everything under way, I asked Aunt Melissa if she could take over for a few minutes while I ran across the street and checked on Sam. Of course, she gave me the go ahead and off I went.

I began to wonder if Sam had changed positions in the last two days. He was exactly as I’d left him on Sunday night. In fact, he was still playing with a game boy when I walked in the room. "So, how’s your leg coming along?" I asked him.

"Well, I can start walking on it tomorrow," he replied. "I’m not sure if I’ll be able to play on Saturday though." He said sadly. I reassured him that all would be well. Besides, it still wasn’t his turn to pitch. If he did get a chance, it would be out of the bull pen. I began to wonder if the coach had changed his mind about letting Sam play games that he wasn’t pitching. The potential for injury might simply be too great. I knew that Sam would try to convince him that it was best for the team if he was playing. Again, time would tell.

"So, are they feeding you enough over here?" I had to ask him. I knew what his response would be before I asked so I wasn’t surprised when he told me he could eat. I promised him if he was a good boy that I’d be back later with a plate full of chicken and potatoes for him. He smiled at that and went on to tell me that he was having a bit of trouble keeping food down these days.

This was news to me. Sam, having trouble keeping food down? I’d only known him all my life and couldn’t ever remember him being sick. Maybe it had something to do with being stuck in bed these past few days. If he couldn’t keep down the chicken and the potatoes I’d have to have a talk with Aunt Alice about getting him to the doctor.

"Well big guy, I have to get back across the street and finish making dinner. Are you going to be alright over here by yourself?" I asked half joking. He gave me the saddest look and promised not to breathe until I returned. If he wasn’t sick already, I’d have punched him for that one. I gave him a huge hug and told him I’d be back around seven. I ran down and brought him back up some ginger ale hoping that would help to ease his stomach. I wasn’t going to worry anyone else about his symptoms at this point. He’d probably be fine come the morning. Why, once he ate some of my chicken, how could he help but get better?

I went back into the kitchen. Aunt Melissa had thoroughly taken over. I worked with her in silence for a bit when suddenly she asked me what was wrong with Sam. Hell, just because Sam had never been sick a day in his life didn’t mean that he wasn’t entitled to be now, did it? In fact, that made it more likely that he would get sick, didn’t it? I absentmindedly began discussing Sam’s condition with Aunt Mel. I probably went on longer than I should have. She then hit me with a question that rocked me on my heels.

"You two are using protection, aren’t you?" She was the third person to ask me this question. Its significance finally hit me. I fell into a kitchen chair.

"Aunt Mel, you don’t think?" No, it was impossible. Why, there’d only been the few times. Why hadn’t I paid closer attention in health class? "Aunt Melissa, I have no idea what Sam’s problem is, but I know it would disrupt two households if you mentioned this conversation to my mother or Aunt Alice. I’m not even sure how to broach the subject with Sam. Hell, he can’t be pregnant. We’re just kids!"

She came up behind me and gently massaged my shoulders. She promised to wait a few days but insisted that I keep her apprised of all that was going on. How was I ever going to mention this to Sam? He’d never let me touch him again. It would make a fine scandal for the newspapers were it true. He couldn’t be, he just couldn’t.

"You and I are going shopping after supper," she said and left me to collapse on the kitchen table. It took me a moment to figure out just what she had in mind. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam was indeed pregnant. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t put your picture in the paper for something like that. It was for the most part an impossible secret to keep. I found myself worrying that Aunt Alice would send him away. That Sam would decide to have an abortion. This was all more than I could handle.

I felt the need to get clean. I ran all the way upstairs and into the bathroom. The shower was steaming within minutes. I forced myself into the sweltering spray. I did my best to calm myself down. He was feeling nauseous so that made him pregnant? I realized the absurdity of it all. I scrubbed the little flecks of paint from my skin. How was I ever going to mention the possibility to Sam? Here Sam, pee on this.

I took another deep breath and realized that I wasn’t going to feel better until this particular possibility was eliminated one way or the other. I dried myself off and made myself as pretty as I knew how.

I then found myself thinking that if anyone was pregnant, that it should be me. I had so many conflicting emotions going on. How could I possibly be jealous? I put on a floral shell and my pleated blue skirt. A pair of hose and my Mary Jane’s completed the look. I looked as innocent as a school girl. Then again, so did Sam. I sighed as I made my way back downstairs.

"Joan, worrying about it isn’t going to change anything," Aunt Mel admonished as I returned to the kitchen. I helped her set the table and moments later Mom came strolling in the door. She didn’t have a care in the world. I hoped it would remain that way.

"Joan, what are you doing home?" She asked upon seeing me. I told her I got fired cause I couldn’t work all the hours that Mr. Ferris wanted. This caused Aunt Mel to raise her eyebrows. I just looked at her and shrugged. Hell, if I’d wanted the job, I could have been his little automaton.

Conversation soon turned to more pleasant things and for awhile I forgot about my potential problem. Dinner as always was delicious. I was sure that Sam would enjoy it when I brought it over to him. Of course, thinking of him brought my mind back into focus. I cleaned up the kitchen while Mom and Aunt Mel conversed at the table. Another first this evening. There’d been no round of gin and tonics before serving the meal. I’d been so preoccupied that I hadn’t noticed. Maybe in some ways things were returning to normal.

Aunt Melissa managed to borrow Mom’s car without her getting all bent out of shape and we headed out - - to the drugstore. I was surprised at the myriad of choices available. I finally picked one out at random and we went to the check out counter. I tried to pawn it off on Aunt Mel, but she pushed me away and forward in the line. I almost felt like laughing. For some reason, it seemed surreally silly to me. The elderly lady gave me a few dirty looks as she rang up my purchase. I felt like telling her that it wasn’t for me, but in a way it was.

"Have you decided how you’re going to mention this to Sam?" Aunt Mel asked. I sat there silently. "Do you want me to come with you?" She continued.

I just wanted to run away and hide somewhere for at least the next nine months. I thanked her for her offer, but realized that it was something that I’d have to do alone. I reasoned that Sam would handle it better on a full stomach, at least I hoped he would and we made our way home.

"You two are back fast," said Mom upon our return.

"I just wanted to get Joan this new eyeliner," replied Aunt Mel holding up the cover purchase.

I went into the kitchen and began assembling a plate with food. "Meals on Feet" I announced as I made my way to the front door. Mom chuckled. Aunt Mel’s serious expression would not fade. I found myself worrying that she’d tell Mom what was going on while I was gone.

It was the longest walk across the street I’d ever made in my life. The E.P.T. kit tucked safely away in my purse. Aunt Alice smiled at me as I entered the front door and told me that Sam was waiting for his dinner. She went on to say that he’d refused her offerings earlier. I took that as a bad sign. I couldn’t recall Sam ever refusing food. I brought the plate up to him and ran back downstairs for the tray and some ginger ale.

"How did you know I wanted ginger ale?" He asked me upon my return. Waiting for him to finish eating before saying anything was one of the hardest things I’d ever done in my life. He may have had trouble keeping food down, but his appetite hadn’t diminished. He was working on the last spoonful of potatoes when I simply couldn’t hold it in anymore.

"Sam, I have a request to make of you and you’re not going to like it," I began. He eyed me curiously. I fumbled with my purse and had my right hand wrapped around the package with it hidden inside.

"Are you going to show me what you’ve got hiding there?" He asked.

Just for a moment I was grateful that he couldn’t jump out of bed and overpower me. Well, all right, he could, but he wouldn’t. I tried to think of the right words to say. I drew a blank with each false start. "How’s the nauseousness?"

Just as he was about to tell me he was fine he asked for the bowl on the side of his bed. I decided to take a different approach. "Sam, when’s the last time you had your period?" He looked at me strangely and reminded me that I had seen the whole thing back in June. That didn’t bode well for my worries.

I removed my hand from my purse and handed him the test kit. He looked like a condemned prisoner who’d just been informed that the date of his execution had been moved up. "Sam, it could be that your nausea is morning sickness," I said at last. He seemed aghast at the possibility. For a moment I thought he was going to hit me for simply making the suggestion. "Sam, you had your last period in early June, it’s now the last week of July, don’t you see the possible connection?" I begged.

His face closed up like Fort Knox. I sat by the side of his bed and held his hand. He didn’t resist me. I took that as a good sign. "Sam, all you have to do is urinate on the test strip and we’ll know for sure." I pushed onward. "Sweetheart, we just have to know one way or the other. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I realized the possibility." I wasn’t going to tell him that Aunt Melissa already knew all about it.

"But what about my baseball career?" He cried out suddenly. "You’re the one that’s supposed to get pregnant, not me!" He exclaimed. If he was indeed pregnant, I’d have done anything to change places with him. Unfortunately, that was impossible.

"Sam, it’s going to be all right," I said in a soft voice. I helped him out of bed and into the bathroom. Thankfully Aunt Alice wasn’t a "hands on" kind of parent and left us alone while we worked our way through this.

"But, we’re only fourteen!" He shouted. I hoped his shout wouldn’t draw an audience of one. I nervously listened for the sound of feet on the stair treads. None were forthcoming. Aunt Alice didn’t stir from whatever she was doing. I was prepared to stay and sat down on the side of the tub. Sam shooed me away quickly. I didn’t want to leave. This was where I belonged. I went back in his bedroom and waited a few minutes. After I heard the toilet flush, I went and tentatively knocked on the door.

"Sam, are you OK in there?" My own stomach was churning and I was pretty sure I’d be leaving a mess to clean up momentarily. A sound of faint sobbing greeted me. I was filled with mixed emotions. Sure, this was horrible, but it might be the only chance I’d ever have to become a biological parent. Well, given my own delicate condition.

I tried the door knob. It wasn’t locked. I slowly turned it and made my way inside. I’d never seen Sam so distraught in my life. Not even when his "father" had supposedly passed away. What could I do? "Sam, it’s going to be alright," I said at last. "At least now we know what it is," I continued in an attempt to calm him down. What were we going to do now? "Are you sure there wasn’t any mistake?" I had to ask.

He shoved the test strip in my face. Per the instructions there were two dark purple bands across the middle of it. "What do we do now?" he wailed. It was time I confessed that Aunt Melissa already suspected. I had to get him back into bed first. I didn’t want him hurting himself or the baby.

Sam was clearly more upset about this than I was. I guessed with good reason. My pain was simply related to the fact that it wasn’t me that was pregnant. "Come on Sam, let’s get you back to bed." I said and half carried him back to his room. "Why didn’t you use protection?" He asked me.

It finally started: the blame game. I wasn’t going to throw it back at him and ask why he hadn’t used anything either. It was too late for that now in any case.

"Sam, do you think you can walk?" We really needed to get out of the house. For some strange reason I was simply insanely happy over the prospect of becoming a parent. What was wrong with me?

"I have to get rid of this," Sam said matter of factly. Oh no! Of all the possibilities I’d never really considered abortion. He couldn’t really do that, could he? My earlier euphoria turned to dross. What should in a sense be a happy occasion was turning into a disaster. Still, I knew in my heart that Sam’s reaction was the more appropriate one. He was totally restless and unable to stay in bed. He stood up and took a few tentative steps before smiling slightly as he realized that the pain in his leg was gone.

We walked slowly to the boardwalk. There would be no marathon jaunts this evening. We removed our shoes and walked towards the waves. I didn’t know what to say. Could I let him abort my baby? Hell, could I stop him? I knew that it would be legally impossible to prevent him from terminating the pregnancy if he so chose. How could this be happening to us? It’s funny, even in light of what had happened I still found myself thinking of Sam as male.

We sat there in silence for the longest time. Finally, I heard a voice. "Sam, do you think it would be possible to keep the baby?" I was somewhat astounded to find out that the voice was my own. The ensuing punch to my right shoulder was hardly a playful one. I collapsed in the sand beside him. I was inconsolable.

He finally let go of his own anguish for a few moments to consider my own. "Joan, we’re just kids," he began.

"But what if it was meant to be?" I argued irrationally. This wasn’t supposed to have happened. It still amazes me that neither one of us had given any consideration to the possibility of a pregnancy. I continued crying. Sam hugged me tight and joined in. We weren’t there too long when another voice interrupted us.

"Can anybody play?" Aunt Melissa had found us. "I take it by the sad looks on your faces that Sam took the test?" She asked solemnly. Sam shot me a look of total betrayal.

"Now just a minute Sam. I didn’t say anything to her. She was the one that told me you might be pregnant." For the moment I was glad that Sam was hobbled by his injury. For all his building anger, he didn’t let me go.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Sam asked Aunt Mel. I looked up at her expectantly, as if with her magic wand, she’d make everything as it once was.

"I think it’s time to forget about role-playing gender games and deal with reality as it exists," Aunt Melissa replied. Something in her voice told me that this story wouldn’t have any "Happily ever after" for its ending. "Come on children, it’s time to go home. Your parents are waiting for you."

So, she’d told Mom and Aunt Alice about the prospect of a pregnancy? So much for being able to trust anyone. Sam slowly lifted himself off the sand and headed for the boardwalk ramp. Aunt Melissa and I followed close behind. I knew there wouldn’t be any celebration awaiting us on our return.

The walk back home, though only a few blocks, seemed to take forever. "In you go" said Aunt Mel when we arrived at my front door. For a moment Sam looked like he was going to bolt. I’m pretty sure that if his leg had been healthy he’d have run. Instead he slowly ascended the steps and walked inside. We could hear voices emanating from the kitchen in the back of the house. "Keep walking," Aunt Melissa ordered.

Mom and Aunt Alice seemed relieved by our presence. "So, I understand we have a problem?" Mom asked the table at large. I was ready to speak, but deferred to Sam. This was his story to tell if indeed he was up to discussing it. He just sat there examining his fingertips, not saying a word. Finally, he looked at me and gave me a nod.

"I’m not sure how to tell you all this," I started. "It seems Sam is pregnant," I blurted out at last. My pronouncement seemed anti-climactic at best. Although it seemed everyone knew the news already, a hush fell over the room. I wished there was some way I could protect my baby growing inside of Sam. I never felt so helpless before.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Aunt Alice. I explained the symptoms and the test results but reasoned that the test could still be in error somehow.

"Now don’t anybody run off half-cocked," admonished Aunt Melissa. "Sam, how do you feel about all this?" She continued.

"I just can’t be pregnant," he said. "Why there’s baseball and school and just life in general. I’m not ready to be anybody’s parent," he finished.

I wasn’t a religious person, but I was personally against abortion. Yes, I know, easy for me to say; I can’t get pregnant. I couldn’t believe that it was even a consideration. I slowly slipped into a state of shock. No amount of cajoling could bring me back. Sam was the one with the problem and here I was the one unable to act. I moved to the sewing room and collapsed on the floor. The four of them left me laying there and adjourned back to the kitchen table

They went round and round for about an hour. Finally, Sam came in the room and announced the group decision. He would be taking a trip to the doctor tomorrow for a real determination of status and further decisions could wait until that was over.

Sam held me close and kissed me before taking his leave. He told me he was sorry for having let this happen. I wanted to tell him that it was at least as much my fault as it was his. For whatever reason, I couldn’t find the words.

I tossed fretfully for the longest time. At length I fell asleep dreaming of a child that would never be…