I swallowed. "Jodi, that night at my house"—I swallowed again—"I made such a mess of things..."
"We made a mess of things, Michael. I did, too. I should've told you before about Luke. Like I should've told you right away when you first asked..."
Chapter Twenty-two
April rains washed away the last of winter's grimy snow mounds, cleaning sidewalks, parking lots, and streets. As I watched from the front-room windows, a Century 21 realtor one Saturday morning pounded a FOR SALE sign in the soggy front yard of our house.
Mom had decided to sell the place. "It's simply too big," she said. I hated the thought of selling it because Dad had built it for us. But when school started in the fall, I'd be gone, and Mom didn't want to live in this place alone, where she'd often felt lonely, so why not sell it?
May turned sunshiny warm with soft rains falling every three or four days, prompting signs of spring—green grass, returning robins, and budding trees. But May weather is deceiving. The warm air sometimes mixes violently with Canadian cold fronts, spawning tornadoes.
I imagined that snow still blanketed the ground in Wisconsin, while ice still covered Big Sand Lake.
I called Jodi May 11th. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled that her due date was May 17th.
Five months had passed without my seeing Jodi or hearing from her. I hoped she'd call me. And I kept wondering if she hoped I'd call her. Probably not.
During that time, I'd made a sincere attempt to erase Jodi from my mind, like a picture scrawled on a blackboard with chalk. By May I was able to go hours without thinking about her. But never a whole day. Her memory always came around early in the morning or late at night and tapped me on the shoulder.
I couldn't ignore it.
I played highly improbable Jodi-scenarios over and over in my mind: Jodi and I attending the University of Iowa and dropping baby Mike off in the morning at a day-care center before going to classes. Jodi and baby Mike cheering me on in Kinnick Stadium on a sunny autumn afternoon, watching me help Iowa smoke a football powerhouse like Ohio State or Michigan. Jodi and I in San Antonio for the Alamo Bowl. Or in Pasadena for the Rose Bowl. I'd kick soaring, game-winning field goals. On and on the scenarios went, stupid dreams that would never come true, I knew, and I wondered why he hell I was doing that, dreaming.
Was I crazy?
Is there a name for what's wrong with me?
Not knowing if Jodi would be bitchy or friendly after all these months made me scared to talk to her. But on Saturday morning, May llth, I sat at the bar in the family room and called, telling myself no matter how Jodi reacted, I'd remain calm.
When Jodi answered the phone, the soft sound of her voice made my heart flutter, and my own voice came out a little shaky. "It's me. Michael... How...how are you? How you doing?"
Silence for a moment. "Hi...I'm so big and fat... How are you?"
"I'm okay." I pictured her sprawled in a chair in her grandparents' living room unable to move, face and belly round like a Buddha figurine.
"I'm almost too heavy to walk," she said, laughing. "I waddle worse than before. Ouch! It hurts to laugh. I want to have this baby right now."
"Do you know, boy or girl?"
"I don't want to know, but I can't wait to see this little creature who's kicking me all the time. Sometimes so hard my ribs hurt."
"Are you still going to school?" Seems as though a million questions for her were rattling around in my brain.
"Everyday. But it's so different. No guys—just girls, and we're all pregnant. Some of us look really big. Almost gross. Especially me."
I didn't know what to say. I found it hard to imagine a classroom full of pregnant girls. Pregnant girls in the hallway, the cafeteria, and the library. Pregnant girls everywhere. Wow.
"Some of the girls are only seventh and eighth graders," Jodi said. "And there's a girl here who's pregnant with her second baby."
"Unbelievable."
"This baby's so heavy my back aches. But I'm learning a lot about infant care, and I'm glad I'm going to school here."
"How's algebra?"
"Finished it with a B."
"When do you graduate?"
"In a couple of weeks. We can go through the ceremony with you guys at the high school, if we want."
"That would be great."
"Congratulations on your football scholarship. I saw your picture in the paper."
"Thanks."
"I wondered if you'd call..."
I swallowed. "Jodi, that night at my house"—I swallowed again—"I made such a mess of things..."
"We made a mess of things, Michael. I did, too. I should've told you before about Luke. Like I should've told you right away when you first asked..."
"Does he know you're pregnant? Did you write him?"
"I haven't told him. The baby's got to be ours, Michael. I just feel it, honest."
At that point, I figured the two percent chance that the baby wasn't mine wasn't worth arguing about. "All right."
"Listen, Michael, I have to go. I have a doctor's appointment at ten. Call me in a day or two, okay?"
"Want me to take you?"
"No. You don't need to."
"What if something happens before a day or two?"
"I'll be in Iowa City."
"Boy or girl, I don't care," I said. "Just as long as the baby's healthy and you're okay."
"Thank you, Michael."
A brief but friendly enough conversation, I thought, after hanging up. Time had healed a few wounds. Apparently.
I called Jodi two days later.
"I thought we'd be parents by now," I said.
"No such luck. Something's got to happen soon, though, or I'll explode. I feel like I have to pee all the time. My grandma says when I'm sleeping, I snore something terrible."
I couldn't imagine Jodi snoring. "What's the doctor say about the baby?"
"He expects a difficult birth. The baby's big. I'm small. I feel like there really is a football player inside me."
"The doctor doesn't expect trouble, does he? I mean every thing'll be all right, won't it?"
"He simply says he expects the birth will be difficult. And I'm so scared. I mean, I keep dreaming I'll be alone when it starts—no one to help me. Like I've been deserted."
"That won't happen."
"And I'm afraid I won't have the strength to get through labor."
"Maybe I can help—I could drive you to Iowa City."
"My grandfather intends to."
"I know, but listen. Iowa City's a sprawling college town. There's a football stadium, practice fields, basketball arena, college classroom buildings, dorms—and in the middle of that maze are several hospitals."
"My grandfather's been there."
"What if you have to go at night or at two or three in the morning? Can your grandfather drive okay at night? Does he see all right?"
"Not very well, even with his thick glasses."
"I mean, I'm not knocking your grandfather, but if he doesn't see so good, maybe I should take you. It's up to you."
A short silence while Jodi thought about that.
"I'd like to be there for you," I said.
"Just a second, okay? I'll be right back."
I knew I'd feel a lot better if I went though this ordeal with Jodi. I didn't want anyone accusing me of not stepping up when I was needed most. Be a man, Michael.
When Jodi came back, she said, "My grandfather thinks you've got a good idea, Michael. His eyes aren't all that good, especially at night. And who can tell when I'll go?"
"I'll call you every day, and you call if you need me, okay?" I gave her my cell phone number.
"Can I count on you?" she asked.
"Absolutely."
"All right. I appreciate this, Michael."
"What are dads for?" I said.
