"I can see that, now that you mention it," I say, pointing at his sleeves of faded tattoos. I wonder how many places he's been, or if he ever got tired of letting the ship guide his life.
"Best decision of my life."
"Why’s that?"
His hands on the wheel, Bernie looks over at me. "It's how I met my bride, Mabel, fifty-one years ago."
"Wow, that's incredible."
"Met her one night, at a social. Kids don't have those anymore, but it's a party. A fight broke out that night, and I ended up with her in my arms somehow, keeping her safe. She kissed me that night, to thank me. I knew then she was the girl for me."
"What happened?"
"Married her the next week. Went out to sea the next day. It was the hardest day of my life, but damn, came on the heels of the sweetest."
"That's amazing, Bernie," I say, my chest tight with longing for what I'll never have. My sailor never called, never knocked on my door, or pulled me in his arms one last time.
And I don't blame him.
My brothers nearly beat him to death.
"Well," he says as we pull up to my apartment complex, "I always say: when you find the one, don't let them go. No matter what."
Blinking back tears, I remember to be strong. "I'll remember that," I tell him, thanking the universe for landing this man on my front porch this morning.
"So, what do you do for work?" Bernie asks after we've unloaded all my stuff in my little studio. I try to pay him for his time, but he refuses to take my money.
"I'm actually looking for a job," I tell him.
He gives me warm smile. "You know how to take orders?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, not liking the sound of that.
"My brother, Timmy, has a restaurant and he told me they needed a few waitresses. You interested? I can take you over. And it's walking distance from your place, seeing as you don't have a car."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask, apprehensively.
"Mabel's in a nursing home now and helping people out where I can, keeps me from falling over in a bucket of tears."
I nod, blinking back my emotion at his generosity. "I'd love to meet your brother,” I tell him.
"Good," he says, a twinkle in his eye. "This is a fresh start, Sweetie. Sometimes that's all we need."SampsonI don't hear back.
Not after the first letter.
Not after the fifth.
After the twentieth, I wonder if I've gone and lost it.
But in my heart, I don’t care if I have.SweetieNo. This can't be happening.
I lean over the toilet, retching up the hash browns and fried eggs I had on my morning break. I've been working at the diner for three months, and I've had to adjust to a new sleep schedule. No more rolling into work at one in the afternoon. Now I take the morning shift, pour coffee, and offer smiles, tucking tips into my apron pocket with a grateful heart.
I stopped being a victim, letting my brothers control my life. Instead, I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and made a choice.
But now, as I splash cool water on my face, I realize the biggest choice yet, already happened.
I'm going to have a baby.
A stranger's baby.
I don't even know his name.
Shame floods me. But a knock on the door forces me to remember that I'm at work.
"You okay, Sweetie?"
It's Cheryl, my co-worker. She's a nice lady, always offering me a ride home, and always seems to pack me a to-go bag with dinner. Her kids are out of the house now, moved away, and she says it's nice having a little bird under her wing again. I admit to savoring her kindness toward me. I've never met a woman like her. Working at the tattoo shop never really put me in the path of women who are strong, capable, and big-hearted.
"I'm fine," I say, swinging open the door, not wanting her to think the worst of me.
"Oh, darling, you don't look fine."
"It's just..." I blink back tears. Cheryl must sense I'm not in a good place because she closes the bathroom door and waits until I catch my breath. "I'm pregnant, Cheryl."
I explain that I don't know the baby daddy's name and that I'm only twenty-one and have no business being a mom. That I don't even know how to be a mom. My only example wasn't exactly shining.
"Shhh," she says, resting a hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay."
"No, it's not." I choke on my words. "I can't work here and take care of a newborn. I can't even pay my bills, and--"
"Hey, one day at a time. First, you have to decide what you want."
"I want this baby, even if it's crazy and irrational. It was made out of--" I stop, the words on my lips nonsensical.