Perfect Little World(11)

Her morning sickness, which had abated during her examination of the letter, returned in full force, mixed with her own dread for the future, and she scampered to the bathroom and dry-heaved until her neck muscles ached. This could not be normal, she thought, the morning sickness or her life. When she could stand, she got into the shower and let the hot water seep into her pores and wash away the rancid smell of pork. When she felt human, she brushed her teeth, got dressed, and then tried to imagine the rest of her day, standing over the smoker, the humidity of summer turning the smell of vinegar into something chemical and harmful. Once she lay back on the bed, Izzy understood that she could not face work, not with the letter now in her possession, her answer necessary to turn the future into the present. She understood that she needed to call in, to let Mr. Tannehill know that she wasn’t going to make it into work, but the thought of that phone call, the embarrassment of disappointing him, kept her rooted to the bed. She closed her eyes and felt the ease of shutting out the world, however temporary. Sleep, the only space that did not refuse her, took over her body. Just an hour, she told herself, just two hours, just three hours, just a day, just two days, just a month, just nine months, just the rest of her life. That’s all she would sleep for, the rest of her life.

When she finally awoke, it was eleven o’clock at night and she felt the strange exhilaration of having erased an entire day from her record. The problem was that now she was wide awake. Izzy listened to her heart beating inside her chest and she mistook it for the baby, wondered if there was a difference.

She rose from the bed and called out for her father, hearing no reply. Sometimes he played cards in the back of the market with some friends, drinking steadily until the next morning, when he simply took up his post once again behind the counter. She suddenly felt the claustrophobia of the house, the need to get outside it. But where could she go, what place would have her? She picked up her keys and walked outside, convinced that if she drove long enough, she would figure it out.

Izzy drove five miles per hour under the speed limit, with the freedom of having no particular destination and no one around to hurry her. After about thirty minutes of aimless cruising, she finally drove to the Whole Hog and idled in the parking lot before she cut the engine. She walked behind the restaurant, smoke forever rising from the chimney, and stared at Mr. Tannehill’s trailer, which Mr. Bonner let him have rent free so that he could tend to the smoker at all hours. The trailer was dark, but she took a deep breath and allowed herself the rare luxury of intrusion, of needing someone. She knocked on the door and it was a full minute before Mr. Tannehill, still wearing his gray coveralls, appeared in front of her, his eyes wide at the sight of her. The only detail that suggested she had interrupted a private moment was that the front of his coveralls was unbuttoned enough that she could see a yellowing undershirt beneath it.

“What in the world are you doing here, Izzy?” he asked her, looking past her as if some irresponsible person had put her up to this.

“I’m in a bad situation, Mr. Tannehill,” she said. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mr. Tannehill had an expression that suggested that he did not want to know her trouble but could not figure out how to politely deny her. Finally, he readjusted his baseball cap and then gestured toward the restaurant. “Well, come check the pig with me,” he said, but she held up her hands and replied, “I better not. The smell of barbecue is making me sick these days.”

Mr. Tannehill considered her and then shook his head. “That is a bad situation, then,” he said. “Do you mind sitting on the steps here? I haven’t had another person in this trailer since I moved in and it’s a damn mess.”

They situated themselves on the steps and Mr. Tannehill said, “I figured something was going on with you when you didn’t turn up today. You’ve been out of sorts lately.”

“I’m pregnant, Mr. Tannehill,” she said.

“Oh lord, Izzy,” he said, shaking his head. “I was hoping you just needed to borrow some money.”

“I’m only a couple months along. I haven’t told anybody else.”

“Well, everybody else will find out soon enough, I reckon,” he replied. They sat in silence; Mr. Tannehill took off his cap and held it in his hands, fiddling with the band.

“I’m really, really scared,” Izzy said.

“I understand why, Izzy,” he said. “It’s a hard thing even in the best of situations.” He paused, and she noticed that he was blushing, fighting with himself to be polite but to also be her friend. “I imagine,” he said and then stuttered for a second before righting himself. “I imagine you know who the daddy is?”

“I do,” she said.

“And he’s gonna help out?” he asked, and Izzy shook her head.

“It doesn’t seem like it,” she said.

“And you,” he stuttered again, and then coughed. “Sorry about this, but I’m just wondering if you still think you want to keep it.”

“I do. I definitely do, however I can manage it.”

“Fair enough,” he replied. He looked at Izzy, his eyes the most unknowable shade of dark brown, not a flicker of emotion behind them. He reached for her and pulled her into an embrace, an awkward but generous hug. Izzy fell into it and closed her eyes.

“There are worse things in the world, Izzy,” he said. “You’re a good person and that baby will be lucky to have you. You’ll be a good momma, you can bet on that.”