It's been such a great week! Bristol Palin showed her true nature when dumped from that dancing show. Our President showed up Tuesday night and stood up for all of us. My husband had major surgery, it went well, and he's home and recovering. And, I'm moving my novel along with four new chapters. Have a wonderful Friday.
WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW
by Allison
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Unlike the Heats, Tad’s father and stepmother were not told
of the pending “new addition.” Rachael was adamant about that. Stella Saplin,
the second wife of Thomas Saplin, was a pro-choice liberal. “That woman would
want to kill the baby,” she told Tad. “If she doesn’t know, she can’t have an influence.”
“Got it, Rach.” Tad didn’t care that his folks were being left out. That
was fine. Thomas and Stella never came to visit. They weren’t a close family.
There was a time when the four of them were closer. The
kids were little then. Things changed four years ago when Stella ran for mayor
and Rachael had openly campaigned for Stella’s opponent. She said it was
because Tad’s stepmom was pro-choice, and that was true. But only partially
true. Stella believed in the constitutionality of a woman’s choice to terminate
a pregnancy when there was rape or incest involved, especially when a girl was
barely past puberty. The state had a shameful record in its failure to protect
children, and Stella was very concerned with the high rate of child sexual
abuse in the back country and would never support forcing a twelve year old to
carry a baby to term. Difficult choices, for sure, and she had done her
research and her sole-searching before stating an opinion. In the end, the two
women were on different sides of that issue. However, those differences were
not the biggest reasons Rachael did not support her in-law’s campaign.
Only Tad knew more. He knew that Rachael didn’t want
another Mayor Saplin, especially another female Mayor Saplin. Rachael felt
ownership of that name with that title and she couldn’t imagine sharing that with
Stella. Neither did she want her mother-in-law having access to the records of
her administration. There were a lot of skeletons buried that Rachael hoped
would never be dug up. Stella was just the type to go digging. The woman had a
left-leaning curiosity and she really meant it when she said she would bring transparency
to the office. Stella Saplin wouldn’t be happy letting the executive manager
handle the work. No, she would dig in, ask questions, and learn how things
worked. It would be so annoying to have Stella asking for explanations when she
uncovered things that didn’t add up. It would be more than annoying; it would threaten
Rachael’s future in politics. So Rachael campaigned hard for the person running
against Stella Saplin. After the election of 2004, Rachael avoided Tad’s
parents as much as possible and they avoided her in return.
If things went according to plan, Cristol's baby - Thomas and Stella’s first
great-grandchild - would be introduced to them as another grandchild, the adopted
fifth child of their son, Tad. Tad could honestly say an unwed teenage girl had
given the child up for adoption and that Rachael’s friend, Dr. ABC had delivered the child and arranged the adoption. Again, if the
plans worked, all that would be true.
Rachael found a spin to make lying look saintly, “I look at
it this way, Tad. Allowing your parents to believe they are welcoming a
stranger’s newborn into the Saplin clan makes this a beautiful thing. Why, this
lets them open their hearts and be altitudinal. Is that the word I want? Altristic? Well
anyway, you know what I mean. We wouldn’t want to tell them the truth, and
denying Tom and Stella these good feelings. See what I mean?”
The need-to-know list of people was short. The fewer people
with the truth, the better. Throughout Tad’s forty-three years, he’d done his
share of truth hiding. As he thought about hiding his daughter’s condition, he
reflected on his own secrets. He had started small, back when he was young and
inexperienced. After marrying Rachael he honed his skills and learned new ones.
He had secrets his wife didn't know. Big secrets. Together they had big secrets, too. Manipulation of the truth was like a drug. Tad and Rachael were addicted to it.
It got them high, and they always wanted more.
Sometimes it paid off monetarily.By bending the truth,
ignoring some problems, and with pressure applied to the weakest points of town
government, they’d been able to sell the old house on Lake Azzolla in spite of its
failure to comply with codes. Who really cares about minimum setback? And so
what if the carport trespasses on a neighbor’s land? In Azzolla, Mayor Saplin
made sure the real estate laws continued
to be weak, limp, paper tigers.
Of course, the coup de gra was, the Saplin’s new home on
the lake. Amazing what can be built by “buddies” (town employees on the clock
taking a little extra under the table) using “construction scraps” (intentional
excessive purchases added into a bid in a town contract). When one person has
power, such as, say, the mayor, things like regulations to submit building
documents for new construction can be vetoed with the swipe of a pen. Who cares
if the law gets passed by the next administration? Timing is everything, and
timing was perfect for Rachael and Tad to complete their new house in the final
months of her second term of office. Tad saw nothing wrong with any of it. They
were just taking care of family and making dreams come true. Who could
criticize that? He told his kids what his daddy had told him, “You only go
around once in life, grab all you can. And if anyone gripes about it, just
accuse them of being jealous.”
Tad and Rachael posed much greater threats to the citizens
than silly local laws ever could. Tad didn’t feel the least bit uneasy wielding
power. In fact, he felt justified. For example, with a phone call or a word, he
could make life hell for that lousy, no-good, wife-cheating, alcoholic s.o.b.
of a brother-in-law, Ed Spivey. That was justice. Tad thought even God, if He
really does exist, must approve.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
As Cristol dressed to go to the hockey game, she tried on
yet another baggy sweatshirt. This style, with a big pocket across the belly
was the best camouflage. She looked in the mirror at the grey one she had on.
“I look like an elephant,” she said. Sliding open the closet, a big wrinkled
shopping bag of clothes tumbled out at her feet. It was the stuff Maple picked
out at the Goodwill Store the previous afternoon.
New clothes for Cristol were out of the question. Rachael
was a detail person, and one of the details in the plan to keep “it” a secret
required that Cristol dress in baggy clothes all the time. Even though she was
supposed to keep her parka on whenever she went out of the house, there would
be times when it had to be unzipped, like at the hockey game this afternoon.
That was where Goodwill, the not-for-profit purveyor of pilled sweaters, came
into the plan. Because girls always check out what other girls are wearing,
someone might notice if all Cristol’s clothes looked new, baggy and big. So, Maple
was sent to a second hand store to find suitable used things for her sister. Rachael
calculated that Maple wouldn’t raise any suspicions because teenagers including
the Saplins loved to shop for comfortably worn clothes at bargain prices.
Orders were given to Maple to buy an assortment of big sweatshirts and
oversized sweaters, and Cristol was to practice her response in case any top
brought a comment or a question: “this old thing? Had it forever.”
Maple had come home out of sorts, and snotty. “Here,” she
said, shoving the burgeoning bag at Cristol. “You owe me.”
Cristol had taken the bag, stuck out her tongue and slammed
her bedroom door. The bag had then been thrown down on the floor of the closet,
where it came to rest precariously on a double layer of shoes. Now, it might
provide some relief from wearing the three faded sweatshirts that had become
Cristol’s staple wardrobe – one grey, one green with frayed cuffs, and one
washed-too-many-times-in-hot-water blue one with “Old Navy” across the chest. Rummaging
through the contents of the bag she spotted something in a shade of soft pink –
one of her favorite colors. Pulling it out past the other clothes, the
cashmere-like feel ratcheted up her anticipation. “Oooooh, nice,” she spoke
aloud when she saw that the emerging garment had a hood. She loved
hoodies. One of the draw strings was
tangled up with another garment’s buttons and in the minute it took to work it
free she was feeling a happy anticipation. When she got it untangled and fully
out of the bag, she paused and ran her hand over the back. It was nice - what
consignment stores called “gently used.” Excited, she turned it over, hoping
for one last bit of good luck. A big front pocket would make it perfect.
Her face fell. Instead of a pocket, big puffy white letters
announced “Baby Bump.”
She chided herself as she fought back the tears. Crying
over a used hoodie? How foolish. One warm drop began to slide down her cheek. She
wiped it with the back of her hand. Throwing the pastel confection on the floor,
she gave it a kick and it slid across the hardwood and crumpled against the
door. Did Maple think this was funny? Did Maple hide it at the bottom of the
bag, knowing it was Cristol’s favorite color, letting her get excited, mocking
her? Maple could be thoughtless and Maple could be cruel. Maybe Maple resented
the attention Cristol was getting, even if it was for a reason no thirteen year
old should envy.
Since Cristol’s announcement she’d become the center of her
parent’s at-home attention. Life in the public eye was still the
all-encompassing focal point, but when there were private moments, Cristol and
the baby, and to some extent, Wrangler, had the lion’s share of Tad and
Rachael’s attention. Lately, Cristol had noticed their near total lack of
interest in Maple’s life.
In the Saplin family, the kids weren’t treated as unique
individuals; they were a thing – the First Kids. Even Pride, totally spoiled,
sometimes had to beg to be noticed. Field’s acting out was a cry for attention.
It had backfired. He had gone off and joined the army and there was no
measurable impact on family life. Cristol and Maple had experienced equal
degrees of neglect. Having done a mental recitation of these sad facts,
Cristol’s anger at Maple began to ease up. Whether it was a trick or
carelessness, it didn’t matter. Maple had her own set of issues. Cristol was
going to cut her some slack. This time.
How small her world had become that such a trivial
disappointment was a major event. Thank God she could still go to the hockey
games. They were her only social outlet now. In the coolness of the indoor
arena she would keep her puffy coat on, unzipped to show a sweatshirt
underneath. It looked okay. She could let herself go, cheer loudly for
Wrangler, laugh with her friends, get a hotdog (if she could stomach the smell
of them), and hear what she’d missed at school. It was hard to stay connected
to her friends now. No more drinking parties; not now that she was one of the
“preggers.” How long would people believe that every weekend she was tied up
with “First Family” responsibilities? So far it was working, but it had only
been a few weeks. When weeks turn into months someone was bound to get
suspicious.
In the whole school, only Sparkler knew the truth. Last
August, Rachael’s remark about having “four kids in four schools” made the
paper on a light news day. Reporters asked why Cristol wasn’t returning to the
capitol district for school. To which the Governor answered that there was a
great support system of extended family back in Azzolla, helping with
practices, school events, and homework. One big, happy family in which Cristol
would be thriving.
It seemed like eons ago now, that with reporters watching,
Cristol had won that battle and started
the fall term in Azzolla High with her lifelong friends. It was such a short
period of time that she was back in the familiar halls and classrooms. She
missed it, now, just as she had missed it when she was spending the spring
semester in that horrid high school in the capital. That had been the worse
season of her life, until now. Those kids were über cliquey. Cristol couldn’t
break in to the popular kid’s group, they whispered behind her back that she
was stuck up. The smart kids thought she was dumb. The druggies didn’t want her
hanging out with them because of her mom’s reputation as a clean-the-house
Governor scared them, and all the rest of the kids were losers. Except the
athletes, but she wasn’t skilled in any sports. They only put her on the
basketball team because of her last name. Real players resented it.
These few hours a week that she spent at hockey games were
all she had left that felt “normal”. Watching Wrangler skate, cheering for him,
giggling with her girlfriends, flirting with the other guys – these were the
things that kept her sane. The rest of the time she wrestled with
contradictions that nearly drove her crazy. The events of the last five months
seemed unreal, yet she was brought back to reality every time reality’s tiny feet
started flutter-kicking her in the stomach. Though, technically, she was never
alone, she’d never been so lonely. The product of love she was nurturing caused
her to hate - hate the way she looked, hate the restrictions that had been
imposed by her parents, hate girls who could openly and proudly show a baby
bump. She was a child, who argued with her own parents over what was best for
her child. Let her parents adopt him? Private adoption? Marriage to Wrangler?
Being an unwed single mother?
“I won’t think about that right now,” she said out
loud,“I’ll think about that tomorrow.”
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
“Bless your heart.”
“Bless his heart.” “Bless her
heart.” People often heard the Governor calling upon God to bless someone. At
least that’s what they thought they heard. Those who knew Rachael – really knew
her - understood the message behind those words was anything but pious. Those
three words translated correctly meant: “damn you and your little dog, too.” Yes,
as unseemly as a betrayal disguised as a kiss, “bless your heart” from the lips
of Rachael Saplin meant she wished them ill, in some will-of-the- Father way,
of course.
And yet, she genuinely enjoyed meeting her fellow citizens,
all of them – the children and the
adults, the infants and the elderly, those with special needs and those with
special talents. It was cool being governor in a state whose communities were
scattered over a vast geography and whose population was so thinly spread out
and poor that they greeted her if she
managed to find a way into their town they saw the mere presence as heroism.
Yes, she liked people, but she didn’t care what her actions did to them.
For example, when she wanted to do something she didn’t
listen to anyone who disagreed. She confused disagreement with disloyalty, and
disloyalty was not tolerated. Nor was it forgotten. Retribution was harsh,
staff were fired, private citizens fell
under the scrutiny of law enforcement, reputations were ruined.
While the governor was cutthroat and had the power to take
people out, it took a cadre of “yes men” and “yes women” to get it done. An inner circle defended her and took shots
at those who had opinions or ideas that didn’t align with the governor’s. Behind
closed doors in the capital, they were derisively called “the flying monkeys.”
Most times, when she had the intention of doing harm for
any reason - ambition, selfishness, conniving cruelty, or whatever - a generous
dose of “God talk” was thrown in to ease any guilty twinges. Pieces of any
important agenda (often called a “game plan”) would be interjected during prayer
request time at church. Those scheduled expressions of holiness went a long way
to make church members feel guilty if they considered voting any way other than
the one they’d heard the pastor bless: “Oh Lord, we pray that you will bring
out your people to vote for …” These petitions to heaven always had some
portion that sounded humble and heroic when coming from a petite I’m-only-a
hockey-mom-from-Azzolla figure standing on the platform surrounded by ministry
staff: “Father God give me the courage to go forward in spite of those who
would not follow Your plan…” (I’m not the bad person people say I am, I am
God’s faithful servant). The ending had a pattern, too. Words that acted as an
escape hatch in case things didn’t go as hoped: “Holy Father, Thy will be
done …”
When there was a public referendum coming up to vote,
Rachael increased her shopping at large discount stores. It wasn’t a vice, an
addiction, or a compulsive disorder, it was because she wanted to “run
into” fellow church members and ask them
to pray, and the evangelicals she knew were heavy consumers of cheap goods made
by poor people in third world countries. Trolling the aisles, she’d send one or more of the children to check around
and see if they recognized anyone from the church family. If they did, Rachael
positioned herself for the chance meeting, and then declared “a miracle” that a
believer had arrived just when she was thinking about this issue that was so
heavy on her heart. Swallowing pride,
and being proud of it, two or more would pray out loud. Right there in
children’s socks, or wherever, “Oh Lord God,” and “Thank you Jesus,” was stage
whispered accompanied by eyes squished shut, awkward hand holding, and lots of
head nodding. A chorus of “Amen-ing” would seal the deal and the warm, secure
smugness of evangelical elitism radiate from Rachael and whomever had had the
privilege to join hands with her in prayer. Cristol used to bask in the warmth,
too, and Pride still does. Sometimes Cristol wonders if Field is right – that
the warmth is more likely coming from hell fire than heavenly realms. Only
Maple is totally disinterested. If she’s with her mom when such things occur,
she rolls her eyes and walks away. All
that matters to Maple is that she not be seen in the vaccinity by anyone her
own age.
Scripts of such were seared into Cristol’s memory, even
though she hadn’t gone prayer shopping with her mom since she was
thirteen. In season, Tad’s snow machine
racing was thrown into the prayer mix because Rachael really did believe in
prayer, even while she simultaneously
was trying to manipulate “the will of God’ into the mirror image of “the
will of Governor Saplin.” With others,
or alone before going to sleep, Rachael prayed, “Oh Lord, bring Tad safely and victoriously
to the end, to Your glory…” (people will want to be Christians like us when
they see us get that big $20k prize. Glory to God!). And Rachael had petitioned
God on her sister’s behalf many times, typically going something like this: “Dear
Jesus, protect my sister from her evil husband and smite him down.” (Smite is a
word you only hear in church or in prayer, so it must be a really awful thing,
just like that SOB deserves).
Rachael hadn’t sought any prayer partners to petition
heaven for an answer to who should raise the baby. She wrestled with that
question herself; Tad coached. He was open to whatever was decided. He only
wanted Rachael to be able to continue on a course to national political power.
That was where the real money was and that was where she belonged.
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
Rachael and Tad called a meeting with Cristol and Wrangler.
As the younger couple held hands, seated on the leather sofa, the other two
pulled chairs up facing them from a few feet away. Instructions were clear:
don’t raise your voice because Pride, who had been told to stay in her room,
was probably trying to hear what was going on.
Rachael began. “Tad and I called this meeting therefore
with all this time and you getting bigger and decisions have to be made also, too
much …” she paused, having confused even herself. Then she went on, “too much time, you know
and doggone it, just slippin’ away and all...” Rambling from Rachael didn’t
faze the kids. Both of them stayed silent and waited for her to get to the
point.
“We need a game plan.”
There it was, the duo of diction Cristol dreaded. Game
Plan! She couldn’t begin to remember all the game plans she’d lived through,
but she knew for certain that each one had taken a toll on her happiness, her
security, and her self-esteem. Every time her mom ran for office, fired staff
or proposed new legislation and every time her father prepared for his annual
race or the summer fishing season the kids lost a part of their childhoods. Parents
too busy to raise their kids shouldn’t be allowed to be parents she thought.
Cristol promised herself she would put her kids first. First and foremost.
Always.
When Cristol was very little she thought a “game plan” was
something fun her parents must be doing after Cristol and Field were in bed.
Some fun only adults could have. Like a big people’s Candyland. That was her
absolute favorite game. Not that she played it at home. She couldn’t remember
either of her parents playing any game with her. But she had logged many hours
playing Candyland with her cousins at their grandparent’s house- drawing cards
with ice cream and gum drops and peanut brittle and hopping her play piece
around the rainbow colored path. As a child and now as a babysitter, the
thought of Candyland and her cousins congered up warm feelings of belonging and
being loved. The words her mother had
spoken this particular Sunday afternoon had caused an opposite and visceral
reaction.
As she matured, Cristol observed that adults played games
all the time. Life was a game. And they played for keeps. Stakes were high,
and, win or lose, there was always bitterness. The game plans hatched in the
Saplin home were serious as a heart attack. Looking to outsmart, or at least
outdo someone - politicians, supporters, friends, the media, competitors,
lawmakers, neighbors, banks, the IRS, or a rogue brother in law - Rachael and
Tad’s game plans were created, revised, launched, evaluated, and followed with
precision. In the game plans Cristol had witnesses, people were discarded like
rejects in a ‘trash’ pile of a card game.
Currently all the family members had their marching orders
in a game plan to make Rachael a nationally recognized political figure. As
Governor, Rachael Saplin had taken $35,000 in the state budget and had it
earmarked to spend on national publicity for herself. With that money, a
promoter had been hired to get the governor some interviews on network and
cable and into magazines and newspapers with large, international circulation.
The family, the extended family, and her administration were to take any
opportunity to reinforce her image as a spunky but wholesome small-town girl
who was a tomboy-beauty queen -PTA Mom-whistleblower-evangelical that ruffled
feathers in state government. She reminded folks to use the comparison of David
and Goliath, standing up to evil while everyone else cowered. Central to the
plan was the intent to promote and expand the “big happy family” image with
some well-placed references to Tad’s minority heritage, union membership and
rugged outdoor activities. Grandma and grandpa Heat, were to get some mention
and reporters were to be kept away from Grandpa Saplin and Stella. Never, ever
should anyone mention Field’s mess ups or the First Dude and the Governor’s
marital problems, past or present. Rachael wanted to move into national
politics and she needed exposure. All the Saplin kids knew what was expected of
them, their mother had made it clear, “Don’t screw up. And, if you make a mess
then cover it up. Even cats know enough to do that, and I hate cats don’t
you know.”
“So, you know, I was thinkin’ without sayin’ that, reality
there are some events, yes, because in the great passage of, though, of course
it seems that choice is a good thing, Tad and I were thinkin’ that you guys are
so young, when God makes lemonade…” She stopped and make a face. Even she was
startled. She blinked rapidly, silent for a few beats.
She turned to Tad. “Do you want to handle this?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Oh golly, kids, it’s clear to everyone that you don’t have any idea…and also, it’s certainly
less than ideal…why, when your father and I were your age…and besides, how will
you raise this child when you two are children yourselves?’Not waiting for an
answer, she barged ahead with the rehearsed presentation. “You two know you
can’t raise it, and I know I couldn’t bare to have my first grandbaby adopted
out to strangers, so this is the plan, that your father and I will adopt the
baby because, of course, it’s the only way..” Rehearsing always paid off, Rachael was clear, if not concise.
“Cristol, you can’t be seen anymore around Azzolla. People
will notice your packin’ a moose. You stay inside from now on, no more hockey
games or nuthin’. Then, after Christmas you go live in the city with Aunt Helen
and her family. She’s gonna be doin’ us a favor, so in return, you’re gonna
earn your keep there by helpin’ out with the kids.” Rachael was wagging a
finger like she was scolding a naughty child. Her squinting and grimacing would
have made Wrangler laugh if it weren’t for the predicament he was in. He
maintained a serious expression.
“We’ll take you out of school, say you have mono, enroll
you in your cousin’s school district next Spring after, well, yes, after you
“get better”- there’s over a thousand kids in that high school, you’ll just be
a name on the sick list for a couple of months– and after the baby comes you’ll
get over the ” she made air quotes with her fingers,” the mono.” Crystol
frowned and Rachael plowed ahead.“ If you’re lucky maybe you can be back in
time to run track and loose the baby weight. I don’t know what you’ve been
eating but you’re getting awfully big awfully fast.” Cristol’s mouth fell open.
Her mother didn’t notice. Her thoughts had moved on to herself.
“Tad and I will make the announcement together. We’ll say
that the big danged house seemed empty with Field grown and out serving our
country and doing his patriotic duty. We have been blessed and, now,” with parallel
fists pumping in front of her, she delivered her rehearsed spiel, “We have room
in our hearts and our home to share God’s blessings with one less fortunate…“
Her voice dropped low and she shook her head sadly, let out a sigh and took on
a forlorn tone and visage. It was as if the media were already in the room, “a baby
born to an unwed teenager.”
This is sick, thought Wrangler.
“See? We don’t even have to lie! The problem with lies, you
know, is that sometimes it’s hard to remember to say the same thing every
time.”
Wrangler had always tried to avoid judging his girlfriend’s
parents because he had seen very little of them, really. Mr. S spend a lot of
his at-home time in the garage, and when the governor was in Azzolla, she spent
her time alone - closed up in her room watching TV, going out to jog, tanning, or
behind a closed door preparing a speech. One thing he was sure of, though, was
that they wouldn’t make good parents for his kid.
“So, that’s the plan. Tad and I will sign papers to adopt
him and no one will know.”
“Mom! No!” Cristol said.
“Oh,” Rachael jumped back in, “I forgot to say Wrangler can
continue to live here anyway. The homeschooling thing’s working out okay, and,
besides, he should be helping you and keeping you company, Cristol. After all,
he’s the one who got us all into this –“
“MOM!”
“Shhh, keep it down, Pride might hear you.” Tad said.”
Dad!” Her voice was quieter; she spoke through clenched
teeth, “You guys don’t get it. He isn’t yours. This is MY baby.”
“No, he’s ours.” Wrangler surprised them by speaking up. “And
there’s no fucking way we are giving him away. Not to anybody.”
Tad entered the fray. “Stay out of this.”
Wrangler stood up. “I should kick your ass.”
Rachael was shocked. Wrangler had always been quiet and respectful
and Tad could be a bully. But, Wrangler looked like he could take care of
himself, and Tad, well, he wasn’t as young as he used to be.
Tad stood and returned Wrangler’s glare, only because he
had a reputation to live up to. Inside, he was thinking that there were a lot
of adult men who wouldn’t dare do what this kid was doing right now. Is he stupid? Does he know what I can do to
him? He was thinking about the damage he could do to the kid socially and
economically.
Rachael stood up, too. “You’ve got nerve! All you are is a
sperm donor. And don’t you forget it.”
Again, she was shaking a finger at him like a scolding school marm.
Cristol pulled back more deeply into the cushions and
protectively hugged her baby bump. Oh
God, this really sucks, she thought.
Tad and Rachael both glared at Wrangler. Wrangler’s eyes
didn’t moved from Tad. He didn’t blink. Rachael wanted control. While the two
men locked eyes, she felt unimportant, so she made an outrageous suggestion. “Maybe
this isn’t even your baby. Maybe it’s JJ’s. Are you willing to raise a kid that
looks like some other guy? Believe me, it ain’t easy.”
There was a collective gasp from the other three. Cristol
turned redder than Alaskan salmon and flinched involuntarily.
“Rachael! That’s enough!”
In spite of Tad’s admonishment, she launched a few more
arrows. “If Cristol wants us to adopt this baby, you’ll have no say, Wranger
Strauss! None! What are you doing here anyway? Why don’t you go back to your
trailer and have your mother trim your mullet?”
“Whoa, “ Tad literally jumped in between them, “Let’s all
calm down.”
Wrangler took some steps backward. Rachael crossed her
arms. Tad walked over to his daughter curled
up in a fetal position sinking into the corner of the sofa. “Your mother and I
just want to help. We know how much work it is to raise kids. We have a big
house. We make enough money. You kids have always had grandma and grandpa and
Aunt Sally taking care of you and they’ll help with this one, too. We just
think you two need to get back to school and grow up some more before starting
a family.”
Though he had very little college, Tad had more sense than
the rest of the family put together. His common sense far outweighed his other
traits, including integrity. What he was holding back was that he and Rachael
needed to keep Cristol’s pregnancy a secret because it wouldn’t set well with
Rachael’s conservative base or the CCC. Sure, they could put the pro-life spin
on it - Cristol made a mistake, but she is choosing life. But once the baby was
born - “given life”- every picture of the Governor and her family would carry
that reminder that Rachael and Tad’s kids were unsupervised and out doing who
knows what while the first dude and the gov were everywhere but home. Somehow,
he and Rachael had to find a way to get these kids to go along with the
adoption.
Cristol, shocked and reeling, finally spoke. She was
pissed. “Look,” she said,“ I’m the one getting fat, I’m the one who barfs at
the smell of spicy natchos, I’m the one missing out on parties and stuff. Right
now, life is giving me a big middle finger.” She illustrated with a digit on
her right hand. “It sucks,” she said, taking back her finger, and pouting.
“Cristol, let’s stay calm,” her mother admonished.”This
isn’t the time for you to be all Cristol-the-Pistol.”
“You guys are gone all the time, out there putting your “game
plans” to work. You think you are good parents? Well, you’re not...you aren’t...you
haven’t got time! God, mom, this month alone you’ve been to New York City,
Washington DC and Los Angeles. And you took Dad with you!” Rachael and Tad
looked at each other. Their eyes said they knew she was right.
Wrangler sat down again and took her hand. She lifted her
chin and looked hard at both her parents.
“Forget those plans. You’re not growing this baby in your belly, you
aren’t the one getting up four times a night to pee and you’re NOT going to
adopt this baby. Wrangler and I will raise it together.”
She was controlled, but she couldn’t have been madder. The
whole adoption thing had taken her by surprise. She’d been expecting her
parents to tell them that she and Wrangler get married. That was something she
was ready to talk about. In the vacuum
of silence, she christened the new subject.
“We’re going to get married.”
Huh? What are you talking about? Wrangler had expected “wedding
talk” ever since they’d broken the news. He’d expected it today from Mr. and
Mrs. S. But he hadn’t expected Cristol to be the one to put it out there. He squeezed
her hand and when she turned and looked at him, he thought he saw love and
determination. She’s gonna be a great mom.
“Really,” Rachael’s voice was drenched with sarcasm. “That
true Wrangler? Are you goin’ to act like a real man?”
“Mom!” Cristol was mortified “Stop being such a jerk!”
Tad started to defend Rachael, but he was too late. She was
already defending herself.
“Just sayin God says
every baby should have two parents in the plan that God intended although you
can’t… well, you shouldn’t…and especially when you could…and if you did, then where
would you be? A child growin’ up without two parents, they and everybody else, because
it’s less than ideal, of course, to only have one.” Garbled, as usual, but
everyone understood nevertheless. “Kids need two parents.”
“Wrangler is very well aware of that,” Cristol said
pointedly.
“Oh. Yeah, that’s right.” Rachael hadn’t been thinking
about Wrangler coming from a single-parent home. But, so what? She plunged
ahead, “We need to get this settled make the plans, do the deed.” That didn’t
sound right. “Ummm, yeah, anyway, we got to consider when also, and of course
the Legislature’s not started, so we would, I mean you two could of course, in
the best of circumstances there’s just about enough time to make plans,” she
took a breath. “Nothing big, ‘cause you guys screwed up and didn’t listen to my
warnings. Told you and told you not to do what I did. Still, Cristol, please
don’t’ run off to the justice of the
peace ‘cause, you know, my mom was so hurt when we eloped and you’re her
favorite granddaughter, so she’s got to be invited. Not big, but somethin’ with
family. Your family, too, Wrangler.”
Not hearing any resistance, she presented plans for the
wedding and the honeymoon in another long monologue. “A secret family service. Pastor
would keep it quiet. Keep your rings on a chain around your neck…until we make
the announcement later, you know… say, how about Hawaii? I mean for the
honeymoon, not the wedding. Wouldn’t that be a nice honeymoon? Not the rainy
part of course, hoo boy I learned about that the hard way I was just about your
age, too. Hated college, how can a girl concentrate on studies with all those
good lookin’ native boys around. I didn’t like bein’ the minority, though. Did
I ever tell you how awful it was for Terri and me, being surrounded by so many minority
students. Besides, it rained a lot. Anyway, what I’m sayin’ is – Hawaii - you can
still fly, you aren’t too far along. Not like it’s your eighth or ninth month.
If we plan something for December. Just sayin’, you liked Hawaii last summer.
Wouldn’t that be a nice place to honeymoon?”
Stunned silence. Neither Tad nor Wrangler nor Cristol
knew what to say and none of them stirred. Rachael sat back and waited. One of
them would have to speak eventually.
It was Wrangler who answered first, surprising him as much
as it surprised the others.
“S’up to Cristol.”
Cristol turned herself halfway around to face him straight
on. Putting her hands on his cheeks, she searched his eyes. He didn’t blink.
She swallowed . He didn’t flinch. She shrugged her shoulders, he raised his
eyebrows and nodded.
“So, d’ya wanna get married?”
It was trademark Wrangler Strauss – a no-frills combination
of brevity and openness. No manipulation.
Cristol gave him a quick kiss. “If that was a proposal, I
accept,” she said.
Tad finally spoke. “You two will be fine. When I was your
age Wrangler, I had a car, a truck and a job. I think that’s why Rachael
liked me, I had more money and more stuff than the other guys. Anyway, you got
all that. You remind me of myself. You’ll do alright as a dad, too. “
For a moment, Rachael looked like she’d smelled something dead.
Then she turned on a cute Scarlet O’Hara smile and gushed with phony gaiety, “Wrangler,
welcome to the family!” She reached out to hug Cristol, and promised, “We’re
gonna take him under our wing. Yep, you betcha!”
Then Rachael got up. She stood in front of Wrangler and motioned
for a hug him. As her arms when around him, he had the thought, This must be how that bear felt when it got
caught in Buck Heat’s crosshairs.
““Bless your heart.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
