Page 112 of Resilience

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Once Athena got the all-clear from the clinic the next day, they headed home.

Since their talk after the pizza was delivered, she’d seemed better. Still introspective and a little distracted, but no longer freaking out. Sam thought finally recognizing, or acknowledging, that Hunter had really hurt her, the kind of hurt that made trauma, had helped her understand her toxic concoction of emotions. No doubt she was still feeling that concoction—trauma wasn’t something that just stopped with a snap of the fingers—but knowing it for what it was had calmed her.

Physically, she seemed okay. She’d described it as like her heavy period days, and Sam knew understood what that meant. Her biggest complaint was that ‘pads feel gross.’

They stopped at the same gas station they’d hit on the way up. While Sam filled the tank, Athena went in to use the bathroom. When the tank was full, before he went in to pay and grab a Coke or something, he took Blanche over to the grassy area and let her have a few sniffs and stretch her legs a little, in addition to getting her business done.

Athena was still inside, so he locked Blanche in the cab and went in himself. He could stand to get some business done, too.

He got the men’s room key from the chick at the desk and told her what pump he was on—and that he was probably going to add to his bill with some snackage supplies. As he turned, Athena was right behind him. She had her phone out like she meant to give it to him, and her expression was ... weird. Surprised or something.

“Okay?” he asked.

“Did you get a text?”

If he had, he hadn’t felt it. He dug into his pocket and pulled it free. “No texts since this morning. What’s up?”

Now she did hand him her phone. A message from her mother took up center stage: Not sure if this is weird news for you right now, but Kelsey’s in labor. We’re all headed to the hospital. We might still be there when you get back in town. Don’t feel like you have to be there. Everybody will understand, starlight. I just wanted to warn you.

Her mom had texted her about five minutes earlier. Sam checked his phone again, but nope. Nobody had sent him word yet. That wasn’t particularly weird; the women in the family were a lot more on top of that shit than the guys, and the women generally turned to other women to spread news in the family.

Sam handed the phone back. “I thought she was due the week before Thanksgiving.”

“The kid hasn’t learned about calendars yet, dummy.”

He liked the sass in that response. “How do you feel about it?”

Athena wasn’t sure she wanted to be a mom, but she loved kids. Her ambivalence toward having her own was based in worries about whether she’d be a good Deaf mom, and whether she was too small to successfully get a baby born. She’d been told by more than one doctor that any pregnancy she had (and kept) would be high risk, and she was the product of an extremely high risk pregnancy in which many of the risks had been realized, so ... she was ambivalent. But it had nothing to do with her feelings about children.

She shrugged. “I’m okay. Whatever weird shit is going around in my head right now, none of it is about having an abortion. That is nothing but good. Kelsey having a baby is completely different from the infection Hunter left behind.”

“Okay. Good. We’re about two hours out. Do you want to head for home, or to the hospital, or make that a game-time decision?”

She smiled, and Sam was sure it was her first undiluted smile of the day. “Your sports metaphors are dumb. FYI. I think I want to go to the hospital, but I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Game-time decision it is,” he signed, laughing. She grinned and flipped him off.

“Did you leave Blanche alone in the truck?” she asked.

“Yeah.” When she frowned at him like a schoolteacher handing out detentions, he defended himself. “It’s forty degrees, so it’s not like she’s going to boil in there. I took her for a pee first, and I locked up. Here, take the keys.”

She took the keys, then waggled her finger at him. “Neglectful dog dad.”

“Yeah, yeah, alert the authorities. I’m gonna take a shit. Do you want snacks?”

“Are you offering your shit as a snack, Samwise?”

It did his heart good to see banter from her—and it suddenly registered that it had been weeks since she’d been playful like this.

“I’ll have you know my shit is considered a delicacy in certain circles,” he said, keeping up the game.

She made a broadly comic ‘yuck’ face. Yeah, his girl was going to be just fine. “I am not in those circles, trust me. Flush and wash your hands. Then, and only then, I’ll take a hot chocolate. I’ve still got my bag of Reese’s for snacking.”

Before she turned toward the front door, Sam grabbed her and kissed the shit right out of her.

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