Perfect Little World(16)
“Well, it feels silly sometimes, but it’s true. And now, it seems like there are a large percentage of children who are unwanted and uncared for, drifting through this world, and I wish there was something in place for those children that’s better than what we have now. There are safety nets, but so many children slip right through them or they never even reach them. It seems to me that there must be a wider net, to make sure that every child is loved and cared for.”
“A network?” Dr. Grind offered.
“That’s too formal for my tastes,” she replied. “Not a network. Not even a community. Certainly not those awful communes that are just excuses for adults to remove themselves from society and do whatever they please, with no regard for the children. I’m talking about something quite different. Dr. Grind, excuse me, Preston, I’m talking about a family. I’m talking about a family that is larger than just a husband and a wife and their children. I’m talking about a place where everyone is connected and everyone cares for each other equally.”
“A family,” Dr. Grind then said, in agreement with Mrs. Acklen.
“A kind of family, yes,” she said, smiling. “A family that will not end, no matter what the circumstances. An everlasting family. An infinite family.” She reached across the desk and took hold of Dr. Grind’s hand, which he willingly allowed. “And I think, Preston, that you could help me make this happen. I think you are just the person I’ve been hoping for.”
Preston had no real idea as to what he could do to help Mrs. Acklen. In fact, what she was suggesting seemed too broad and unrealistic to ever be a reality, with no real structure for making something like this happen, at least in an organic way. But, as he held her hand, feeling the warmth of her skin and the easy way that it fit in his own hand, he could not resist her, could not deny her what she was asking for.
“Are you the person that I’m hoping for, Preston?” she asked.
“I think I might be, Brenda,” he finally said, smiling, so relieved that he thought he might cry.
chapter four
In the smokehouse of the Whole Hog BBQ, Izzy mixed together salt, pepper, and vinegar in a bucket using a wooden oar while poring over a Bible-size Dr. Sears book on babies. Now three months’ pregnant, Izzy finally felt like an authentic expectant mother; although it was only noticeable to her, the flatness of her stomach was becoming the slightest bit convex, something beyond her powers making itself known.
She had finally told her father; he reacted at first with an anger that Izzy had not expected, a desire to beat up whatever boy had done this to her, but that eventually gave way to a stoic acceptance of the fact and a belief that Izzy’s mother, had she been alive, would have been very excited about this, though Izzy knew for a fact that her mother would have been furious that Izzy had allowed a baby to slow down her inevitable rise to greatness.
Word got out among her few friends and coworkers and, once it was clear that she was not going to reveal the father and that he was out of the picture anyway, people let it drop, or at least didn’t discuss it around her. In fact, the waitresses at the restaurant now seemed more interested in talking to Izzy, as if her pregnancy finally made her normal in their eyes, and they shared numerous stories about their own experiences, most of them so unpleasant that Izzy wondered why anyone willingly got pregnant.
Mr. Tannehill refilled Izzy’s cup with water; he was always making her drink water, as if he’d heard water was important to expectant mothers and this was the only thing he knew about the subject and he was going to stick with it until the baby was born. He tipped an imaginary cup to his lips and Izzy nodded and took a deep gulp of the cold water. Mr. Tannehill had also purchased a carbon-filter HEPA mask for Izzy to protect her from the smoke, but it fit strangely on her face and made her feel dizzy, the sound of her breathing always in her ears, so she took it off. Mr. Tannehill now made her take frequent breaks to walk outside and get air. And he would not allow her to lift anything over five pounds, which meant he was hoisting the pig carcasses onto the chopping block by himself, a task for which Izzy had assumed she was necessary. But she found that Mr. Tannehill could do it without much effort, which made her feel the slightest bit patronized, all those times she’d used every muscle to move the more than one hundred pounds of pig around the room, thinking she determined whether it fell to the ground or not.
One of the waitresses stepped into the back room and hollered that someone was here to see Izzy. “Who is it?” Izzy asked, but the waitress was already rushing back to her work. Mr. Tannehill was preparing a new pig for the smoker, which could hold two pigs at one time and therefore was always in use, using an electric saw to remove the head and legs. He looked over at Izzy and asked, “You need to check on that?” Izzy shrugged. “I better go check. It might be my dad.” Mr. Tannehill returned to his work and Izzy walked through the kitchen, where all the frying was done and the sides prepared, into the seating area for the restaurant. She scanned the area, a huge space lined with picnic tables, but saw no one she recognized. The waitress who had called her was walking by with a tray of food, and Izzy stopped her for clarification.
“That old lady over there,” said the waitress, pointing to a woman in a business suit, sipping a glass of water and looking quite worried to be in her current predicament. Izzy realized instantly who it was, Hal’s mother. She felt sick and her knees wobbled for a second before she righted herself, just as the woman spotted her. Izzy placed her hand over her stomach, as if there was something to hide, and she considered going back to the smokehouse. She understood, there was no other explanation, that Mrs. Jackson knew about her and Hal. The only mystery was how much she knew. It was a strange sensation, to finally be discovered, especially since Hal was now out of her life. The woman gestured for her to come over, and Izzy found that her feet were moving without her consent, her subconscious hoping that Mrs. Jackson had a message from Hal, who had never responded to Izzy’s letter rejecting him.