WHITE TRASH IN THE SNOW
by Allison
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Tad’s phone screen said the call was from GOV RACHAEL. What
now? It’s Saturday. Did someone criticize her on a radio call-in show? He
expected to hear whining, and he did.
“This is flippin’ unbelievable Why us Tad?
We don’t deserve this!”
“Wha-“
“Shut up and listen,
Tad. Just when it looks like there’s no stopping us – we ‘ve finally got this
house, we are both makin’ real money, I’m the freakin’ governor, for pete’s
sake…with a shot at the White House! And
now Cristol’s gone and ruined everything.”
Tad listened. He didn’t say anything until it appeared she
was ready to listen, too.
“Now, Rachael, honey. Calm down. It’s not the end of the
world. We were kids once, too And, you
were pregnant-“
“Shut up, Tad. I wasn’t six-god-damn-teen!”
“Rachael, baby, just calm down.”
“Stop telling me to calm down! God, Tad, you are no help at
all. Just get home as soon as you can. We’ve got to talk.” She slammed
the blackberry down on the counter. Why did the big things always come up
when he was working up north? She always had to handle the hard things by
herself, like when the police brought Field home from that vandalism spree, and when she’d found an empty vodka bottle and
boy’s underwear under Cristol’s bed, when Maple and her friend’s threw that
party… Rachael’s resentment’s had built up over a long period of time. Tad’s work
schedule kept him away for so many days at a time that by the time he came
home, she’d usually handled whatever crisis had come along. As a result, he
could play “good cop” to her “bad cop.” When he was home he spoiled the kids, no one
picked anything up, he spent time on his hobbies, and was pretty much the fifth
kid.
On the other hand, there was something to be said for the
weeks Tad was away. Rachael had insisted on separate bedrooms when they built
this house three years ago. Like Scarlett O’Hara, the heroine of the movie
classic Gone With the Wind, she was done with all that bedroom stuff that kept
women subservient.
Rachael was a sophomore in college when she’d been
introduced to the vintage Oscar winning movie in a feminism class. Immediately,
she identified with the flirtatious, headstrong beauty and the paper she wrote,
“Going Rogue: the Life of Scarlett O’Hara,” earned her an “A.” It was the only A she ever got in any
class. An the fact that it was for a paper was a miracle in her eyes. Teachers always took off for run-on sentences
and lack of clear, concise thought. But in that class, the aptly-named
instructor, Dr.Wattling, had particularly liked the theme of Rachael’s paper,
the identification of Scarlett’s aggressive behaviors as the young woman being true
to her “inner maverick,” and she rewarded Rachael’s understanding of the selfish and narcissistic Miss O’Hara.
Many times since college, Rachael had asked herself “What
would Scarlett do?’ and her life became a series of clever manipulations
earning her a reputation as feisty, feared and admired. She was Scarlett O’Hara
in the flesh, making it in a man’s world,
earning the fear of men and women alike. And like the attention hording Miss
Scarlet, Rachael loved having all eyes on her, and the recent flurry of
national media coverage had been flattering and satisfying. Reporters usually
commented that hers was a large, rough, rural, state, and described her as a
pretty young woman doing ‘a man-sized job”. Then inevitably, they added that
she was “hot” or “a fashion plate.” Yes, indeed, she and Scarlett were cut of
the same cloth. And, like Scarlet with Rhett, Rachael had told Tad, “No more babies.”
“What would Scarlett do?” she asked out loud as she dumped
a handful of chocolate chips over a bowl of chocolate ice cream. “I know for
sure she wouldn’t depend on Rhett to handle it.” She went to the window over the sink, and
stared out at the lake while devouring but not savoring 800 calories.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tad put the phone in his parka and looked out over the
changing landscape. It was a seasonably cool October day, and he would have
loved to linger outdoors in the crisp air. But, he knew better. The wisest
thing for him to do would be to get home as quickly as possible. Forget about
the overtime he’d miss out on, just get on the road and head for the airport.
He knew he would still put the hours on this timecard, reasoning that it
wouldn’t be cheating if he planned out the crew’s work schedules and thought
through some other jobs in his head during the hours he was traveling. He’d
done it plenty of times. They paid him to think. He wasn’t on the line any
more. But, just maybe it would be wise to make a business call or two so his
cell phone bill would indicate he was working. Tad climbed in the truck and
turned the key.
The vehicle was a sanctuary for Tad. When he commuted,
between assignments, he had hours of solo driving, hours of listening to
country music, no one interrupting his thoughts and no one making demands
on him. It was bliss. Today, he selected one of his favorite CDs, and as
the music came out of the speakers he tried to relax and sing along.
It was no use. Every song led him to thoughts of Cristol, Wrangler, a
baby… lyrics about broken hearts, two-timing men, resolute women determined to
go it alone.
He turned the music off, He had forgotten about his idealized intentions to “work”
while he drove, he was too distracted with mental preparations to confront
those two kids. How could you do this to your mother? That would be aimed at
Cristol. Then to Wrangler he’d growl, I ought to kick your ass!
Wrangler’s just a kid, himself, they both are, Tad thought.
By the time the baby comes, Wrangler will be probably be history. One
night, the boy got lucky with Cristol (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) and now there’s
another Saplin on the way.
To some extent, he was mad at himself. He’d seen Cristol’s
waistline getting bigger and her face filling out. All signs he recognized
from Rachael’s pregnancies. He admitted to himself that he had suspected for a
while now, and hadn’t been man enough to confront her.
So, at this time next year he’d be Grandpa. He imagined how
it would feel to hold his first grandchild. It would be a boy, he reasoned,
because God knew Tad was already far outnumbered by females. With Field in the
military, God could be giving Tad another guy in the family. “I always wanted
another son,” he said out loud, “are you giving me another boy, God? You have a
very strange sense of humor!” When he was alone, he sometimes talked to
God. His beliefs weren’t like his wife’s, he wasn’t religious, and irreverence
didn’t bother him at all.
When Rachael said
she wouldn’t give him any more kids, she was denying him the chance for another
son. Maybe this was God’s way of punishing Rachael for not being a submissive
wife. Maybe this was God’s way to bless Tad with the boy he intended him to
raise. It was likely it would fall on him to be an active male influence in the
child’s life.
I’ll probably be much more of an influence than that
dumb kid Wrangler, he thought. What kind of name is that? Sounds like a
pair of jeans - cheap jeans. Great, that’s what Cristol’s baby has cheap genes.
The joke didn’t make him laugh.
He breathed deeply for several counts, and felt himself
begin to relax.. Okay, fine. Rachael and I will help Cristol raise the kid,
we’ll add on another couple of rooms. Tad began to plan the building addition in
his mind. Miles passed while he was mulling over the size, layout, and cost
considerations. Tad would get some
friends to help. By the time he reached the airport, he was even looking
forward to being called Grandpa Tad.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Rachael left the
bowl in the sink, grabbed her Blackberry off the counter, and curled up on the
sofa. She put her head in her hands and tried to think. It wasn’t even noon and
she felt exhausted. She needed to talk to someone, and there were only a few
people in her life she could trust with this. Rachael admired her sister Helen’s
common sense parenting style. She and Kurt had three children, including a girl
about Cristol’s age and a boy with special needs who brought lots of joy into
their lives. He also brought extra expense, exhaustion, and increased stress.
“But, then,” Helen often said, “all kids do.”
Rachael speed dialed her older sister. It rang six times. “Hello?”
Helen’s voice sounded out of breath.
“Oh my God, Helen, sit down,” Rachael started, “I’ve got
something terrible to tell you.”
“What? Is it Dad? Is it his heart?” Helen lived in fear of
the call she was sure would come some day. Buck Heat with a bad heart, and
despite all warnings, continued hunting alone in the worst of weather and in
the most treacherous terrain. He admitted his rebellious, stubborn middle
daughter got those traits from him. If he didn’t add at least one large critter
carcass per month to the skeleton display in his yard, he acted like a child.
He moped. A jowly old man with crooked
buck teeth should not mope. It’s ugly. But that would never stop Buck Heat, nor
could his family’s cajoling. And so the mountains of bones grew larger nearly every
month and so did his family’s fears.
“Helen, no! God, no. Dad’s fine.” Rachael assured. “No,
it’s Cristol. And it couldn’t be worse!”
“Cristol? Is it drugs?
Like Field?”
“No! Cristol’s having a baby! She just told me she’s pregnant!
What am I going to do?”
“Alright, let’s stay calm,” Helen had been through other
crisis’ with Rachael, and she knew what worked with her. “You are a strong
woman, Rachael. That’s what your name means - Rachael - The Strong – and you’ve lived up to it. No matter what happens, you’ll be okay. Hey,
there are worse things than little babies. Even when they’re unplanned. You
know that as well as I do.”
“Yup, Pride’s been a blessing,” Rachael was quick to respond. She’d spent her entire married life
covering up Field’s arrival in their seventh month of marriage. Rachael
couldn’t overlook any criticism, no matter how small, neither could she admit
to a lie, or a mistake. Not that a baby should ever be called a mistake. Cristol’s baby, though…now that’s a mistake.
Rachael winced, this was getting complicated. What was the right thing to say?
The right thing to feel? “But Cristol is so young, this just breaks my heart,”
she said.
“Hey,” Helen interjected,“Wasn’t it last May when you
thought she was pregnant? And that was a misunderstanding. Maybe this is, too.”
Rachael grasped at the hope in that thought. “Oh my god,
Helen, you know, that could be it! Maybe
it’s just that flippin’ irregular menstrual cycle of hers. She’s just like you,
you know.” Hope glimmered, faint but welcome. “
The suggestion gave both women a moment to pause and think.
Rachael flashed back to one evening last spring when she returned to the
mansion from a late meeting and overheard Cristol on the phone with her
boyfriend back in Azzolla. What she heard caused Rachael to think the worst; not
only were Cristol and this boy having sex, but Cristol was pregnant!
When Cristol was confronted, she took a defiant stand and admitted
she was having sex with her then-boyfriend, JJ. Rachael called her a slut.
“It takes one to know one,” was the childish reply.
Rachael slapped her face and Cristol ran to her room and
locked the door.
Helen remembered that night, too. Her perspective came from
her daughter, Amanda, who had logged onto MySpace and seen a posting by her
cousin Cristol that read “I’m a slut, lol.”
A few seconds later, Kayla, a girl Amanda didn’t know, had posted
a response to Cristol, “hahaha, that’s old news.” Amanda continued to follow the page where her
cousin, using internet slang and abbreviations, told a cyber cadre of 271
“friends” the details of her fight with
her mother. An explosion of sympathy and support filled the page as her friends
back in Azzolla came to her defense. Some said she should hate her
parents for making her change schools, others assured her that it was her right
to be doing drugs and having sex. “Hope you’ve got some good stuff to get you
through the night” said a girl with the login name “F N HOT.” She and others
offered her a place to stay if her parents threw her out.
After a while she went to her mom asking, “Can Cristol come
live with us?” which led to Helen
becoming a voyeur into her neice’s real-time agony on that spring evening.
Helen considered herself lucky. The relationships she had
with her own daughters and son were good. They trusted each other, liked each
other, and loved each other. They spent time together because they enjoyed each
other. Helen suspected Rachael envied her, which she could understand. She thought, If we traded places, I’d be jealous.
Rachael’s big house, big job, Tad’s airplane and snowmachine trophies –
they are nothing compared to the wealth of love in my family. When my sister
spends time with her kids she bills the state. All three teenagers have emotional
and behavioral problems. And now Cristol might be pregnant. My sister is a
pauper who thinks she’s a queen.
“Rachael, however this turns out, you will get through it,”
Helen offered.
“You are so right,
Helen. I knew it would help to talk to
you. This is just a false alarm. A
wake-up call. One of God’s lessons for Cristol.”
“I hope so, Rachael.
I really do. I hope God’s lesson for Cristol costs her nothing more than
some sleepless nights.”
“I’m going to have some sleepless nights, too,” Rachael
complained. “This is tough on me, too.”
“Yes,” Helen agreed, then cautioned, “But that’s not as bad
as sleepless nights involving bottles with nipples. I’ll be praying for all of you.”
