Joan has a run in with an old "friend." Just for a moment, she begins to wonder whether or not the twins are hers.

Chapter 5

Sailing

It was closing in on five o’clock as I made my way back home. Home, I thought bitterly. I felt like I had no home anymore. I felt like I was doing constant battle with depression and slowly but surely losing. Sam was sprawled on the living room couch when I entered. He was actually reading a book. He quickly closed it and slid it under the couch before I could glimpse the title. Why was he hiding it from me? Was he embarrassed?

"Sam," I said in a half-whisper, "how are you feeling?" He smiled up at me, but didn’t move. He held his arms wide as if requesting an embrace. I walked over to him, hugged him and kissed him gently on the forehead. Why was I feeling so lost, so alone? Sam didn’t have his antennae up and hadn’t a clue as to my mood, or so I thought.

"Joan, I’m fine. Are you all right?" I couldn’t shake the sad smile that seemed glued to my face. I tried as hard as I could to think happy thoughts. It wasn’t working.

"I’m fine Sam," I said as I kissed him on the forehead yet again. "What would you like for dinner?" I almost hoped he’d reply "you" as he’d once done. Maybe with his help I could somehow snap out of it. That wasn’t to be.

"Whatever you feel like making is fine with me," he half-laughed and reached under the couch for his book. At that point I didn’t even want to know what he’d been reading. I got up, walked into the kitchen and began defrosting some hamburger in the microwave.

I sat down at the kitchen table while the oven worked its magic, put my head in my hands and cried. Hell, I was only fourteen years old. I sat there exploring my options for a minute or two. In the end I decided that running away wouldn’t help. Nothing would help.

The microwave oven pinged and I began making meatballs as my eyes swelled with tears. Was this all I had to look forward to for the rest of my life? A sudden wave of exhaustion nearly knocked me off my feet. I sat down again, before I fell down.

I shouldn’t be feeling this tired. The painting job had been a simple one. As easy as it had been, I thought about raising my rates. People seemed too eager to hire me. Nah, now was not the time to get greedy. I filed such thoughts away for future reference. I still felt like running away, but there was nowhere to go.

With dinner cooking, I told Sam I was going out for a few minutes and exited before he could reply. I felt like Shandy was the only one in the universe that understood me and with her in mind I ran across the street and into my house. She ran over and sat at my feet looking up at me with eyes of adoration. I bent over, hugged her tight, and told her that I missed her too. She followed me into the kitchen with her tail wagging at break-neck speed.

Aunt Melissa was scoping out the kitchen contents as if trying to decide just what to make for dinner. "Hi Auntie M," I said as I rushed over to embrace her. "What are you up to?" I asked knowing full well.

"I’m trying to decide just what to make for dinner, and whether or not to invite you and your husband." I smiled at her and told her that dinner was already in the oven and that she and Mom were more than welcome to join us.

"So you actually do know how to cook?" she cried as a booming laugh found it’s way out.

"Just bring my mother and your appetite," I said as I finally calmed down. I felt so much better over here. The only thing that made sense was that being at Sam’s sent me into the depths of despair. I knew it was crazy, but I decided at that moment that we were going to eat over here. I’d simply bring the meatballs over in a casserole dish when they were finished. I brightened at the thought.

"In fact, since I’m in such a good mood, I’m going to bring dinner over here," I told her without revealing my true reasons for doing so. Aunt Melissa smiled at me and began helping me set the table in the dining room. As much as I hated having given up my room, I found myself feeling more sad at the prospect of Aunt Mel leaving. I just had to find a way past all of this.

"You can make the salad," I said to her in an authoritative manner. I’ll take care of everything else. I told her I’d be right back and ran down to the corner market to pick up a loaf of Italian bread. No one ever looked at me anymore in a way that suggested that I wasn’t who I appeared to be. In a way that made me happy, yet in another way I was saddened that no one seemed to miss "John." I guess you just can’t please some people I considered and laughed sardonically at my own twisted sense of humor.

I walked back in the front door, strolled into the kitchen, handed Auntie M the loaf and said: "here, do something with this." My heart just wasn’t in it. I could tell she was tempted to ask me what was wrong, but was wise enough to just let it be. I began to feel better just being "there." I kept reminding myself that current living conditions were only temporary. I went back across the street to check on the meatballs and to inform Sam that we were eating dinner at "my" house.

He didn’t question why. He seemed to know intuitively that I simply needed to be there. The faintest bit of resentment began building with regards to Sam’s overall cavalier attitude. Though he had his moments, he didn’t really seem to care about anything other than baseball. I prayed that I was mistaken.

We went back over to my house as a couple and Sam made a beeline for the fridge. Thankfully, he simply poured himself a glass of iced tea and sat down at the head of the table waiting for his dinner. No offers of help. I was glad that he’d given up alcohol, but still a bit dismayed about his lack of willingness to pitch in. Aunt Melissa asked him how he was feeling and he replied that he was fine but really missed playing baseball.

Mom arrived home on time and no one thought it odd that we hadn’t invited Aunt Alice to join us. She hadn’t been home when we left. Personally, I needed a break from her and didn’t remind anyone of her absence. Auntie M oohed and ahhed over my meatballs and made me promise to give her my recipe. I was pretty sure she had it already, but of course I promised to write it down for her.

The dinner discussion turned to the mundane and for the most part I simply tuned it out. My ears perked up when Sam mentioned his appointment with Dr. Feingold on Thursday morning. I was filled with fear that she’d tell Sam there was no reason he couldn’t resume playing. Of course, that was a double-edged sword. I wanted him to be happy and healthy, but I didn’t want him putting the twins at risk again.

Dinner over, I enlisted Sam’s help in cleaning up. It only annoyed me that I had to ask for his assistance. He started going on about some sports’ biography that he just had to watch later in the evening. Were we growing apart? I reminded myself that I had my own interests which would leave Sam feeling cold. It was healthy to have different interests, wasn’t it? With the kitchen all squared away, I ushered him into the living room and sat him down on the couch putting the remote in his waiting hand.

I went back into the kitchen and began preparing dessert. I wasn’t sure how it would be received. Slices of apples, oranges, and bananas all arranged neatly on a plate. I took a deep breath and brought it in to him. He smiled at me seductively as he took the proffered bowl and began nibbling on the fruit. I was feeling restless. There was no way I’d be able to sit in front of the television all evening. I ran up to my former room and called Darla.

"Darla!" I practically screamed as she answered the phone. "How’s my favorite sister in the world doing this evening?" I began worrying that the anxiety I was feeling had somehow found its way into my voice.

"I’m just fine Joan, I hope everything’s alright with you?" she asked with some concern in her voice. I found myself hoping that she was a mind reader and would simply invite me over. It appeared that that wasn’t going to happen. We went back and forth a bit till finally I asked her how band practice had gone without me. She told me it just wasn’t the same without me there and that lifted my spirits a bit.

"You want to get together this evening?" I simply had to ask. Silence ensued. With each passing second I knew in my heart that the answer was no. "It’s ok, Darl, never mind, " I managed to blurt out before she could say anything. Maybe I was just being too sensitive? I made up some absurd excuse as to why I had to get off the phone and quickly hung up. I’m not even sure if she said goodbye. I actually sat there waiting, hoping that she’d call me back and suggest that we get together to do something. It never happened.

I went in the bathroom, took care of business, washed my face and applied a fresh coat of makeup. I knew what I was going to do this evening. I checked on Sam and made sure he was ok, went and grabbed my old guitar, put it in the soft case, slung it over my shoulder and headed for the beach. It had been awhile since I’d played at all. I figured that the gulls wouldn’t be too upset by my performance.

I walked up the ramp to the boardwalk when a voice called out. "Hey Joan! How’s my baby?" It was Billy. Where the hell did he get off calling me his baby?

"I’m fine Billy, but I’m not your baby."

"Not you asshole, my baby that’s growing inside of Samantha’s womb." I felt every muscle in my body tense. I ripped the guitar off of my shoulder and let it bounce on the boardwalk. I hit him square on the jaw before either one of us even knew what was happening. He collapsed on the boards right in front of my eyes. His two friends with him began laughing hysterically. I turned around and went to retrieve my guitar.

"You going to let some tranny kick the shit out of you?" his friends asked him as he lay there licking his wounds. As I bent down to pick up my instrument, he attacked me from behind. He may have been good at baseball, but he couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag.

"Billy, we don’t have to do this," I said in a solemn voice.

"Yeah Joan, we do," he said and came at me again.

"All right then, let’s do it on the beach where we won’t interfere with those trying to enjoy their vacations." I didn’t bother removing my shoes and made my way down the ramp and onto the beach. Billy was one step behind.

"This isn’t going to be like the last time I kicked your ass Billy. You can still walk away now, but if you insist on doing this, I’m going to finish it." I said the words calmly with no trace of fear in my voice. Had it been just the two of us, I’m pretty sure he’d have walked away. But, his friends were present and he had to save face.

"Just kick the faggot’s ass and let’s get out of here already," one of his friends offered. I had no idea who those two were, but it was clear that Billy was out to impress them.

I wasn’t in the mood to simply dance out of the way of his punches, though that would have been easy. I was intent on inflicting some serious pain. I dodged out of the way of his roundhouse right and hit him hard with a left uppercut. It literally knocked him off his feet. I was done being polite. I wasn’t going to wait around for him to get up and attack me again. I climbed atop him and began pummeling his face. When I was sure he no longer posed any threat, I stopped. His friends were no longer laughing or urging him on. They stood there with their own jaws agape as if they feared I’d turn my attention on them next.

"Billy, if I ever hear you say anything like that again I’m going to kill you." A quick look of terror danced across his face. I was ashamed and embarrassed by my own behavior. My stomach was churning. I was violently ill. I quickly jumped off of him, grabbed my guitar and began walking away. None of them made a sound in my wake.

When I’d walked far enough, when I turned around and saw nothing but faint lights behind me, when I heard nothing but the sound of the crashing surf surround me, I sat down and wept. Had I really just threatened to kill someone? At the time I’d said those words, I meant them. Still, having calmed down, could I actually do something like that? I wasn’t sure one way or the other. I only hoped that my message had gotten through.

His words of torment chewed at my being. Had he really made love to Sam? When could he have done that? The night that he admitted kissing him? Had they taken it further? There was no way I could ask him if it was indeed the case. Expressing such doubts would destroy our relationship. But, what if it were true? My body became wracked with dry heaves. Soon I was spewing my dinner everywhere around me. Was there any way to find out the "truth" of the matter without raising any alarms? I found myself filled with self-loathing for even having any doubts.

This, however, was too big. I couldn’t simply swallow it and hope for the best. Sam might hate me forever, but I just had to ask him. For a moment, I worried that I might not believe him no matter what his response. Still, I began to calm down as I thought about Sam. If the babies were Billy’s he wouldn’t have married me. He’d have had the abortion despite my protests. I knew that baseball was the most important thing in his life and he’d never have offered to give up the sport if not for me and the twins.

Logically, I knew I was right. Unfortunately, the world wasn’t always a logical place. Perhaps Sam was just blocking out any experience he’d had with Billy? I was going to drive myself crazy if I continued on in this vein. It was time to go home and ask Sam himself. Before rising, I opened my guitar case and checked out my six string. It hadn’t suffered any ill effects from my carelessness. I closed the case up, hugged the guitar to my chest and apologized to it for treating it so rashly.

The walk home was a long one. I half expected to see Billy still laid out where I’d left him. Thankfully, he was gone. I never wanted to be that angry again. I found myself thinking about Darla. Why had she treated me so coldly? Had she and Fred found a replacement for me? Was that what this was about? For an instant I found myself thinking that friends were more trouble than they were worth. But, without friends what have you got? Why was I feeling so fucking sad?

I arrived home and walked in the front door. Sam was still sitting on the couch watching the end of some movie titled *61. It was some kind of baseball story. There was a time when I would have cared. That time had passed.

"Sam, I’ve got to talk to you," I told him with some urgency. He looked up at me with concern as the final credits began to roll across the screen. Did I see a trace of fear in his eyes? I sighed aloud.

"I ran into a friend of yours earlier," I said matter-of-factly. He sat there and waited patiently for me to continue. I knew I should probably just bottle up all the feelings that were assaulting me, but I just couldn’t. I simply blurted it all out. "Sam, I ran into Billy and he told me that he was the one that made you pregnant."

A cavalcade of emotions swept over his face. Fear, disbelief, anger, hurt, and finally love. He didn’t get angry. It may have flashed in his eyes for a split-second but in the final analysis, the only thing there was love.

"Joan, sweetheart, come here." I was still battling my own anger and found myself unable to move. I squeezed my eyes tight and willed my body to take a step forward in his direction. It seemed to take forever, but eventually I found myself safely in his arms. "How could that bastard even say such a thing to you? Joan, you’re the only one I’ve ever been with. Before you say or think anything else, listen to me. You know the real story of my own father. Do you think I’d attempt to perpetuate the same kind of fraud on you? Darling, I’m not angry with you," he said as he read the fear in my own eyes.

"It must have been horrible when that bastard assaulted you with those words. I can’t begin to imagine the pain that they inflicted. I hope you didn’t kill him?" he half-laughed and smiled at me. I had no desire to tell him how I’d whupped him soundly. I only knew that I’d do anything to defend Sam’s honor and my own.

"Sam, I’m sorry I let that pig’s words upset me. I hope you can forgive me?" I said as tears filled my eyes.

He held me tight and shushed me as my tears began to fall. I felt so much better being with Sam here in my house than I did with him at the Peters’ residence. What was wrong with me? Why should that make any difference?

We got up and said goodnight to Mom and Aunt Melissa. With arms wrapped around each other we slowly made our way across the street and up to his bed. He slept peacefully, nestled in my embrace.

Tuesday morning arrived and I awoke feeling, well, feeling great! Had I undergone some magical transformation last night while I slept? I kissed Sam gently and carefully removed myself from the bed. Today was going to be a busy day. I ran downstairs and had a quick bowl of cheerios.
Thankfully, Aunt Alice was nowhere in attendance. I packed myself a meatball sandwich and headed off for work. I had three paint jobs that I hoped to finish before my day was done. A bit ambitious perhaps, but we really needed to start socking away some money.

There was a staggering amount of money to be dealt with already. Wedding gifts in varying amounts totaling well over five thousand dollars. Sam and I needed to open a joint account. I decided that for now at least, I was going to keep my earnings in my own account. It just seemed to make more sense to me. For the first time in my life I’d amassed more than $1500. Yes, I realized that in the "real world" that amount was a mere pittance, still it was a beginning.

As I made my way to the Boswell’s, I remembered that Melissa’s wedding was this Sunday. I hadn’t spoken with her at all since Sam and I got back from Sea Bright. The days just seemed to be zooming by. By six o’clock I was done with all three jobs. I really was getting good at this. School? We don’t need no stinkin school, I thought to myself and as I’d been doing a bit too often of late, began laughing out loud.

There was a certain satisfaction to be taken from the work. More often than not anymore, I found myself making suggestions to my client as to what part of their home they might want to tackle next. Tips were starting to become more common as well. I found myself headed home with well over two hundred dollars in my purse. I was still curious as to how Sarah was making out sanding for Mr. Ferris.

Sam greeted me at the front door when I arrived "home." He hugged me tight, kissed me, told me he missed me and had been thinking about me all day. It felt good to be fussed over in that way. We stood there dancing round and round in the tiny foyer.

"Sam, you do realize that Melissa’s wedding is this Sunday? I should give her a call and make sure that everything’s ok with her." He hugged me tighter.

"Where did I ever find you?" he asked facetiously. "I know I don’t say this often enough, but I love you Joan."

Those three simple words meant more to me than any others he could have offered. Sometimes I was overcome with doubt. You couldn’t turn on the television without hearing about some famous couple that was ending their relationship. Why should we be any different? Nothing in my personal experience said anything different to me. Aunt Alice and Mom, both had failed relationships. Was true love simply a myth? With those thoughts in mind, I held him just a bit tighter and told him that I’d always love him.

I made us a simple dinner. Well, it was too late to start something from scratch, so I reheated some meatballs and pasta and prepared a fresh salad. Aunt Alice once again hadn’t been present. Was she avoiding me? I smiled to myself and thought that I’d have to thank her if that was indeed the case. Somehow, she had a way of making me feel that I just wasn’t good enough. We’d never really been close, but lately she seemed to be working at cross-purposes.

It was Tuesday evening and I only had three jobs left for the week. I busied myself on the phone and lined up three more. That would have to be enough. What with Sam’s Doctor’s appointment on Thursday and cousin Melissa’s wedding on Sunday, I now had a full plate.

On Wednesday, the drugs I’d ordered from the overseas pharmacy finally arrived. I now held within my hands the power to make the changes I’d been longing for actually happen. The entirety of emotions washed over me. Fear, trepidation, longing, hunger, need, and yes, outright worry that taking them would somehow destroy my relationship with Sam.

I took the package, unopened, and stored it in the bottom drawer of my bedroom dresser. I needed some time to consider the ramifications of my actions. I had a very slight swelling in my chest, my nipples were growing just a bit, and the overall sensitivity of my breasts was driving me mad at times. Was I ready to take it to the next level?

Unfortunately, there was nowhere I could turn for help. The laws of the land were against me and I was already violating the Benjamin Standards of Care. If I was going to do this, it would have to be my decision, and mine alone. I wondered if maybe Dr. Feingold could recommend an endocrinologist? A doctor who could help me keep track of the hormone levels in my bloodstream. I put such thoughts away for now and went back to work.

The rest of the work day passed quickly. I was somewhat amazed that I was earning more than a lot of adults were. Well, that was true only if I kept up my current pace. While I could handle it on a personal level, would there be enough work out there to keep me occupied?

Sam had dinner waiting for me when I got home. I smiled at him profusely. Although his offering was barely edible, I savored each and every bite...