Jamie McGuire - Happenstance

“Sorry,” he whispered. “It’s four in the morning. Go back to sleep.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

“I don’t know. Someone is blowing up my phone.” Right when he reached for his cell and unplugged it from the charger, it rang. “Shit, it’s my Mom. Hello?”

I could hear Veronica on the other end, her voice high-pitched and desperate.

“No. Calm down, Mom. No, I told you. I’m in Blackwell. I stayed here, remember? Mom. Stop crying. What’s going on?”

The voice switched to a deep tone, and I could tell it was Peter, Weston’s father. Weston wiped his face, his eyes were wide.

“Holy shit. Are you sure? Who told you?” He paused, listening to Peter. “Oh, man. Both of them? I don’t . . . Jesus. No, don’t come back. I’m fine. No, I’m sure. You guys try to have a good time. I’m at home, safe in my bed. Okay. Love you, too.” He hung up the phone and looked down at me.

“What is it? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. It’s the Erins. They were on their way to South Padre, and Alder was driving. She fell asleep or something and crossed the median. They hit a semi head on. They’re dead.”

“They’re . . . dead?” I said in disbelief.

Weston wiped his face again and held his hand over his mouth. “They’re dead. Sonny and Alder are dead.” His eyes were wide, and my mouth hung open. We sat in silence for the longest time.

Weston grabbed his phone and checked his messages. He sighed and shook his head. “The rumors are already starting.” He put down the phone. “Should I take you home?”

“Whatever you want to do. If you want to be alone, I can walk home. If you don’t, I’ll stay here.”

He pulled me against him and leaned back against the pillows, but we didn’t sleep.

The funerals were held together the following Saturday. I didn’t go, because it didn’t feel right, but Weston stopped by the Dairy Queen afterward to fill me in. He told me Sonny’s parents and Sam and Julianne seemed to be holding up well and leaned on each other for support. He talked about what the funeral looked like, who ran the service, what songs they played and who was there. But he seemed lost.

“Why don’t you go?” Frankie said. “He needs you today.”

“I . . .” I looked to Weston. “Do you want me to take off?”

He looked pitiful. “Please?”

I pulled off my apron and tossed it on the counter. “Thanks, Frankie.”

She winked at me, but her expression was sad.

I pushed through the back door, and went immediately into Weston’s arms. He held me tight, burying his head in my neck. I held him for a long time, but when I pulled away, he hung on, so I kept my arms around him, squeezing tighter.

Once his arms relaxed, he handed me his keys. “Would you drive?”

I froze. “I’ve only driven the Driver’s Ed car, and that was over two years ago.”

“You can do it,” he said. He opened the door and helped me into the driver’s seat; then he jogged around and climbed in next to me.

I nervously turned the key in the ignition, adjusted the seat and mirrors, all while trying to recall everything I learned about driving. I pressed on the brake and then pulled the gear into drive, pulling forward. I paused at Main Street before driving out of the parking lot. “Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere. Just drive.” He reached over and took my hand into his. As I turned right and headed out of town, Weston rested his head against the seat. “Everyone was apologizing to me today. It felt so weird, because I don’t feel like I lost anything. I should feel different. Is it weird that I don’t?”

“I don’t know how to feel either. I try not to think about it.”

“Maybe it’s not acceptable, or maybe others wouldn’t understand.” He turned to look at me. “But we get it. We can talk about it to each other.”

I waited for him to expand on that thought. The Erins couldn’t make good on Alder’s promise to make me miserable, now, and that was a good thing. But I didn’t want to be the first one to say something so appalling out loud.

He looked up. “I’m sorry they were hurt. I’m sorry they lost their lives, but I feel sort of . . . relieved. It feels like such an asshole thing to say, but it’s the truth. Don’t you feel the same?”

“I’m not glad they’re dead.” I took a deep breath. “But it’s a relief to know they can’t torture me anymore.”

Weston squeezed my hand, and after that. We didn’t talk much. I drove until the gas light lit up on the dash. By then we were an hour south, in Stillwater. Weston directed me to the nearest gas station and showed me how to pump the gas.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“A little.”

“Okay, I’ll grab some chips and a pizza pocket or something. Mountain Dew?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

He hung the nozzle on the pump, and then ran into the station. I stood there, not sure which door to get in. When Weston returned, he watched me, puzzled.

“What are you doing, babe?”

My purpose, where I was, and even my own name were lost on me, because of what had just come out of his mouth. I’d heard other couples call each other sweet terms of endearment, and I heard mothers say such things to their children, but no one had called me anything but my name, and a few colorful slurs. I’d always imagined what it would feel like, to hear someone who loved me call me something simple and sweet, and it just came out of Weston Gates’s mouth.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked. When I didn’t respond, he took another step toward me. “Are you okay?”

I took a few quick strides and jumped on him, wrapping my legs around his middle and my arms around his neck, kissing him hard.

He kissed me back. The sacks he was holding crackled as he hurried to wrap his arms around me.

When I pulled away, he smiled. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know. I just needed to.”

“You should follow your gut more often,” he said, kissing me again.

He asked me to drive, and five hours after I left work, I pulled into Gina’s driveway. There were two police cars and another car, dark blue with the Oklahoma Department of Human Services logo on the driver and passenger doors.

“Oh my God,” I said. I turned to Weston. “I don’t know what this is about, but you have to go.”

He shook his head. “No way. We’re getting through everything together now, remember?”

Hot tears burned my eyes. “I appreciate that. I really do, but this is humiliating. I don’t want you to hear whatever they have to say.”

“What are they going to say?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t want you to hear it.”

Weston hesitated, and then grabbed my hand gently. “Does she hit you?” I shook my head, and Weston sighed with relief. “When are you going to learn that I don’t judge you, Erin? I love everything about you. I always have.” When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my hand. “Let me come with you. Please?”

I nodded and turned off the engine. We both walked to my house, hand in hand. When we walked in, Gina was sitting on the couch, her expression blank. Two police officers were standing to the side, and a woman from DHS was sitting next to her. She smiled at me.

“Hi, Erin. My name is Kay Rains. I’m from the Department of Human Services. We’ve come because of certain circumstances regarding the death of Erin Alderman.”

“Okay . . .” I said, completely confused. Did they think her death had something to do with me?

She smiled, noticing my nervousness. “It’s okay, Erin. You’re not in any trouble.”

“What’s with the cops, then?” Weston asked. His hand was still firmly holding mine.

Kay nodded. “We didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just procedure. We need you to come to the hospital with us. There is some confusion.”

I frowned. “With the Erins? What does that have to do with me?”

Kay stood. “An autopsy was requested for Erin Alderman. The results were returned last night, and the parents have questions. If we could just get a blood sample from you, we can get all of this cleared up.”

“A blood sample? You still haven’t said what this has to do with Erin,” Weston said.

Kay sighed. “The results have shown that Erin Alderman is not the biological child of Sam and Julianne Alderman. Erin Masterson’s results are normal.  You’re the only female baby that was born at Blackwell Hospital on September fourth. In fact, you’re the only baby that was born, besides the girls that passed away, within three days of your birthdays.”

“Are you saying that you think Erin Alderman is Gina Easter’s daughter, and Erin is . . . Sam and Julianne’s?” Weston said. We both gasped when he finished his last word.

Kay touched Gina’s knee, even though she wasn’t visibly upset. “Unfortunately, that is what we suspect.”

Weston and I looked at each other, both of our mouths hanging open.

“I’ll . . . uh . . . I’ll drive you.”

I nodded.

“We’ll return her shortly, Ms. Easter.”

Gina nodded, and we all left her alone in the living room.

My shoes crunched against the gravel as we walked to Weston’s truck. He opened the door and picked me up, sitting me in the passenger seat without effort. He looked straight into my eyes.

“Is this for real?” he asked.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

Weston got behind the wheel, and followed the DHS car and the two police cruisers to the hospital. We were escorted to the lab, and then sat in the waiting room. Weston held my hand. I stared at the white tile floor, unable to speak, or even think. My brain felt stuck, as if it wouldn’t allow me to even explore the possibility of what all this meant.

“Erin Easter,” the tech said. I stood up, and Weston stood up with me.

“Just her, please,” Kay said.

I nodded to Weston and he sat.

The tech led me through the door into a small room with cabinets and a counter top. He gathered a long rubber strap and clear tubes on a silver tray next to me. I looked away, letting him stab me with the needle, feeling him move just slightly as he switched out the tubes. He extracted the needle, placed a cotton swab on the puncture site, and taped it down with a hot pink, sticky material that looked like a piece of ace bandage.

I stepped out to find Weston standing in the waiting room, between Kay and the police officers. “What now?” I asked.

Kay offered a sweet, reassuring grin and handed me her card. “And now we wait. If you need anything at all, call my cell phone. It’s listed on the card. I’ll come by with the results the moment we have them. We put a rush on the order, but they’re sending them off, so it will likely be Wednesday.”

“Oh. I don’t have a . . .”

Weston took the card, looked at the number, and then tapped his phone. “I’ve got it,” he said. He tapped his phone again and waited. Kay’s phone rang, and she dug it from her purse and looked down. “That’s me,” Weston said. “You can reach her at this number.”

Kay and the officers walked in front of us as we headed down the hall toward the parking lot. They backed out before we buckled our seat belts.

“Do you . . . do you think it’s possible? That Gina’s not my . . .” Just saying the words took my breath away, and my mind shut down again. It wouldn’t let me process the possibility.

Weston intertwined his fingers with mine. I don’t know how my luck changed so dramatically, but this had to be an apology straight from God. If Weston hadn’t been sitting next to me, holding my hand with that look of reassurance, I might have broken down.

I think you’re coming home with me, that’s what I think. We’re going to put on sweats, eat junk food, and watch as many movies on demand as we can fit into one night.

My lips curled up. That sounded a lot like what we’d been doing all Spring Break, and that was exactly what I needed. My smile faded. “Should I go home? Talk to Gina?”

“Do you want to?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think anything good will come out of it. So I guess not.”

Weston turned south and drove down Thirteenth Street, in the direction of his house. I had spent most of my time the last nine days either at the Dairy Queen or Weston’s. Gina hadn’t even asked any questions or spoken to me at all. Not that I was complaining. Spring Break had been the best week of my life, and the thought had crossed my mind more than once that I wouldn’t mind if things stayed that way forever.

Once the truck was in the garage, Weston turned off the engine and pushed the garage door button. We walked down the hallway to find Peter and Veronica sitting at the table. Peter was in a dark gray suit with a black tie, and Veronica was in a beautiful black dress with a black belt.