Sisters in the Wind(61)
“Who’s the most special pregnant princess in all the land,” I teased Tonya.
Lexi moved in with me. A new girl named Jasmine arrived and shared a bedroom with Joy. Jasmine and Joy got along so well that they moved their twin beds together. Lexi and I never mentioned the noises we heard from their room at night. I began cleaning the laundry room and the pantry, leaving the boys’ bathroom for Jasmine to clean.
Boyd treated Tonya the opposite of how Diego had treated Emily. Whereas Diego hadn’t been the baby’s father but doted on Emily, Boyd cared about the pregnancy but didn’t treat Tonya as his girlfriend. I would’ve been upset, but Tonya used it as fodder for her imitations of Boyd.
“How’s my fetus?” Tonya mimicked Boyd’s twang and his hair smoothing and preening. “Oh, and you too, baby-mama afterthought.”
Tonya loved the extra attention from Missus and Jennifer. She delighted in relaying every detail about the baby’s development, especially its size compared to fruits and vegetables. The baby was the size of a lemon at the end of the first trimester, and as big as a pear when 2006 gave way to 2007. By Valentine’s Day, Tonya knew that the baby, now the length of an ear of corn, was a boy.
On Easter Sunday, we learned that the baby, now cabbage-sized, would be adopted by Jennifer and Allen.
“The Hoppys gave me a good home. They can do the same for the baby,” Tonya announced. “Boyd and I talked it over, and he agrees with me.”
I, along with everyone else, looked from Tonya to Boyd and then to the younger Mr. and Mrs. Hoppy. Jennifer smiled and sobbed while Allen used a cloth napkin to wipe his damp eyes. The elder Hoppys rose from both ends of the dining table to hug Tonya. Missus hugged Boyd as well. Mister shook hands with the biological father of his soon-to-be-grandson.
While Tonya’s pregnancy progressed, the rest of us focused on preparing a new home on a corner of the property for Jennifer, Allen, and the baby. Since Boyd and I had passed our GED tests, we worked full-time. I also coached Tonya, who wanted to get her GED before the baby arrived. It made the weeks fly by as the baby grew to the size of a pineapple, a butternut squash, stalks of rhubarb, and finally a watermelon.
Boyd was annoying. Bruce Hoppy rarely spoke. So I looked forward to when the teens returned from school. Diego and the others joined us for daily construction cleanup. We earned minimum wage and were paid every other Friday. Like everyone, I chose to be paid in cash. I counted the bills, which I added to the rolls of cash in my backpack locked away.
Spring brought warmer temperatures than I’d expected. Two pairs of jeans became cutoffs. Jerseys became tank tops. When the social worker issued my clothing allowance, I spent the money on steel-toed work boots, moisture-wicking liners, wool and synthetic hiking socks, and front-zip high-impact sports bras.
I decided to overhaul the library as part of my spring-cleaning project. Finding novels for Emma, who had read more than everyone—including myself—at Hoppy Farm combined, challenged me to expand the selection even more than I already had. A proper library needed an inventory of all titles, organized in a logical, helpful way for readers. I would start with that.
Handling each book, I found an interesting collection of items used as bookmarks. Old postcards, photographs, tissues, raffle ticket stubs. I didn’t think much of a folded piece of paper that fell out of one book. Still, I unfolded the sheet of wide-ruled notebook paper to find a list written neatly in pencil. I read:
KEEP
ADOPTION
He might change his mind
I would be a better mom than mine
One person would love me
He said I’m on my own
Can’t afford food, clothes, everything
They keep asking
There was no telling how old the pros-and-cons list was. I felt bad for the writer. The sadness and loneliness were heartbreaking. It seemed that Hoppy Farm had its share of pregnant foster teens. The note might have echoed the choices of many girls. Since it didn’t feel right to toss the paper, I refolded and returned it to the same book.
Boyd remained a pesky mosquito who buzzed beside me as we did the tedious but low-risk tasks on the farm and at the construction site. He took every opportunity to remove his shirt and flex his muscles like Brad Pitt in Thelma & Louise. I was convinced he’d bought a white cowboy hat just to drive the point home.
“Check out these guns, Lucy.”
I didn’t need to look to know Boyd was showing off a double-bicep pose.
“No thanks. Got my own.” I flexed a bicep while lifting a shovel.
“Her arm muscles are bigger than yours,” Bruce told Boyd.
When Bruce did speak, it was to recite facts or statistics. He loved playing video games. He took others’ words literally. Jokes went over his head. He kept to himself and was a calming presence. Something about him felt familiar, though I couldn’t say what.
Boyd waited until Bruce, whose bulky muscles were camouflaged as a stout build, drove away on a tractor before disparaging him.
“Rain Man doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
We’d recently watched the movie where Dustin Hoffman portrayed an autistic savant opposite Tom Cruise as the younger brother, who was a selfish scam artist.
“Actually, the Rain Man guy was a genius,” I said.
“Why don’t you like me anymore?” Boyd said bluntly.