Dawn (Cutler 1)

I turned to Jimmy. He was as tight as a fist again, and he was heaving all his anger with each and every throw of the ball.

"Jimmy?"

He didn't answer me.

"Jimmy, you don't want to make Momma feel any worse than she already does, do you?" I asked him softly. He seized the ball in the air and turned on me.

"What's the use of pretending, Dawn? One thing we definitely don't need right now is another child in the house. Look at what we're eating for dinner tonight!"

I swallowed hard. His words were like cold rain falling on a warm campfire.

"We don't even have hand-me-downs to give to a new baby," he continued. "We're gonna have to buy baby clothes and diapers and a crib. And babies need all sorts of lotions and creams, don't they?"

"They do, but—"

"Well, why didn't Daddy think of that, huh? He's off whistlin' and jawin' with those friends of his who hang around the garage, just as if he's on top of the world, and now here's this," he said, gesturing toward our building.

Why hadn't Daddy thought of that? I wondered. I had heard of girls going all the way and becoming pregnant, but that was because they were just girls and didn't know better.

"It just happened, I guess," I said, fishing for Jimmy to give his opinion.

"It doesn't just happen, Dawn. A woman doesn't wake up one morning and find out she's pregnant."

"Don't the parents plan to have it?"

He looked at me and shook his head.

"Daddy probably came home drunk one night and . . ."

"And what?"

"Oh, Dawn . . . they made the baby, that's all."

"And didn't know they had?"

"Well, they don't always make a baby each time they . . ." He shook his head. "You'll have to ask Momma about it. I don't know all the details," he said quickly, but I knew he did.

"It's going to be hell to pay when Daddy gets home, Dawn," he said, shaking his head as we walked back inside. He spoke in a voice just above a whisper and gave me a fearful chill. My heart pounded in anticipation.

Most of the time when trouble came raining down over us, Daddy would decide we had to pack up and run, but we couldn't run from this. Because I always cooked dinner, I knew better than anyone that we didn't have anything to spare for a baby. Not a cent, not a crumb.

When Daddy arrived home from work that night, he looked a lot more tired than usual and his hands and arms were all greasy.

"I had to pull out a car transmission and rebuild it in one day," he explained, thinking the way he looked was why Jimmy and I were staring at him so strangely. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Ormand," Momma called. Daddy hurried into the bedroom. I busied myself with the dinner, but my heart started to pound so hard I could barely breathe. Jimmy went to the window that looked out on the north side of the street and stood staring as still as a statue. We heard Momma crying again. After a while it grew quiet and then Daddy emerged. Jimmy pivoted expectantly.

"Well, now, you two already know, I reckon." He shook his head and looked back at the closed door behind him.

"How we gonna manage?" Jimmy asked quickly.

"I don't know," Daddy said, his eyes darkening. His face began to take on that mad look, his lips curling in at the corners, some whiteness of his teeth flashing through. He ran his fingers through his hair and sucked in some breath.

Jimmy flopped down in a kitchen chair. "Other people plan kids," he muttered.

Daddy's face flared. I couldn't believe he had said it. He knew Daddy's temper, but I recalled what Momma said: Jimmy had the same temper. Sometimes they were like two bulls with a red flag between them.

"Don't get smart," Daddy said and headed for the door.