The Right Thing

CHAPTER 17


I’m pregnant.

Du came back after a couple of days, ready to be magnanimous and forgive me, but it wasn’t any good between us. He wanted me to say I was sorry, but I wasn’t, so I couldn’t, and as you might expect, this Christmas was a nightmare of unspoken recriminations. (My present from Du was a Bible with the parts about women honoring and obeying their husbands underlined in red.) We lived under one roof for another week until the new year came, sleeping in separate bedrooms, staying out of public life, and making polite noises when we ran into each other in this monstrous house, but as the days wore on, I began throwing up in the mornings. I didn’t need an EPT test to tell me I was pregnant at last, and I didn’t need a calendar to know it was Ted’s baby.

Well, today’s New Year’s Day, a cold morning possessed of an uncompromising, cut-crystal brilliance. After another night of bourbon-fueled argument, Du’s packed and gone for good this time. I’d like to say I’ve never considered making up with him, letting Du think the baby’s his. God knows that was my first thought. I mean, for one thing, I don’t know if Ted would even care, and for another, I’m not sure I can raise a child on my own. Finally, though, after a day or two of some serious soul-searching, I know I can’t live with myself if I’m not truthful, not even if lying would let me hang onto the old, self-indulgent life of Annie. No, not after that night with Starr last year, not after I’ve begun to realize that it’s way past time I begin to live my life the only way I know how, and not by Jackson’s canon.

So since I haven’t even a notion as to what Ted’s last name might be, much less how I’m supposed to get in touch with him, early this morning after I finish throwing up, I buckle on my big-girl shoes and drive down to the Fair Grounds in New Orleans.

I’m not more than six weeks along, but Bette knows the instant she slams open the Airstream’s door in answer to my knock.

“You’re pregnant!” she crows, her little brown eyes alight with ursine delight for me.

“You’re the first one who knows,” I say. “I haven’t even told my mother yet.”

“Dang.” Bette shakes her head and one of her hot rollers falls off onto the Airstream’s steps. “But you can’t miss it, honey. You’re lit up like Grandmaw’s birthday cake.” I pick up her roller and hand it to her, and she motions me inside her trailer. “C’mon in. What brings you here? I don’t see you for years, and this is the second time in a couple of months.”

Inside, I look around and notice she’s added a swan clock, its wings telling the hour and minute, and a new swan-bracketed paper towel holder. There’s a racing saddle propped on the sofa arm and a pair of miniscule, brown-topped boots by the door next to the cement swan, so I gather that her boyfriend Jesús’s broken leg has mended and he’s come back to the Airstream at last.

“I’m here on a mission,” I tell her. “I need to find Ted.”

“Ted Clancy?” Bette asks, sounding puzzled. “Honey, he’s packing up and headed to Hot Springs this morning. Why d’you want Ted?”

I pause a moment, wondering if I should tell her why I’m looking for him, but then I remember there’s not going to be any more hiding from the truth. I say, “He’s the father. I thought he should know.”

With a gasp, Bette sits on the dinette seat, which responds with a loud creak of distressed plywood. “Oh, Annie.” Her eyes go round as one of her snickerdoodles. “Oh, Annie.” She gulps. “Does your husband think it’s his?”

“I haven’t told him yet,” I admit. “I wanted to let Ted know before I told anyone else. That way if Du shoots me, at least Ted will have heard it from the horse’s mouth.”

A silence falls after that. Finally, Bette asks, “Are you going to tell Starr? Are y’all speaking again?”

I make a disgusted noise. “I haven’t heard word one from her, not since that night I drove her down here and she repaid me by stealing my car and going back to Jackson the instant ‘Mr. Right’ called. So as you can imagine, I haven’t exactly been keeping up with that particular story, being a little distracted by current events. It’s like I’ve been living underground, so I guess Starr’s happy, as happy as anybody could be with that world-class shit head Bobby Shapley.”

Bette laughs. “Well, I hope you two get back together one day,” she said. “A girl needs her friends. You want some coffee? I just baked a batch of brownies.”

Shaking my head, I say, “Brownies, Bette, are one of the reasons I’m in the situation I’m in. Besides, I’ve given up coffee, wine, and cigarettes—at least until after the baby’s born.”

Bette laughs again, her big shoulders shaking. “Not those kind of brownies, sugar. These are plain fudge brownies.”

“You got any of those snickerdoodles?” I ask, feeling hopeful.





Later, I screw up my courage again and walk down the backstretch to find Ted. I find him supervising the grooms in Barn Nine, making sure that the horses’ traveling clothes—leg wraps, bell boots, poll caps, tail bandages, antisweat rugs, and light woolen blankets—are all in place. His wide-shouldered back to me, Ted seems to be explaining something to a young man holding onto the same big chestnut horse that’s still giving everyone the stink-eye.

“Make sure you load him first, in the front of the van,” Ted says. “He’s a bad shipper.” My heart leaps in my chest in apprehension when he turns away from the groom and notices my silhouette in the barn’s entrance. He shades his eyes against the afternoon’s bright, cold January sun and begins walking in my direction, his hand outstretched. A step more and then he stops, recognizing me. Ted drops his hand to his side.

“Annie.” His voice is flat, without emotion.

So much for that, I think sadly. Still, “Hey,” I say. “I’m glad I caught you before you left. Have you got a minute to take a walk with me?”

He seems to think this over, and then he nods, his expression wary. “Okay, I guess so.”

We walk in silence beside the barns for a bit before I find the nerve to open my mouth. “So, um, how’ve you been?” I ask, sounding inane.

Ted keeps walking, long strides I can barely keep up with. “Fine.” His voice is short.

“And how’re the horses doing?” I pant, practically trotting beside him. Ted is so remote, seems so indifferent, that I can’t think of how to bring the baby up. I know I have to tell him before he decides to quit this idiotic conversation and get back to loading the horse van. Instead of getting to the point, though, I babble on. “Has the weather been as cold down here as it’s been at home?”


Ted’s jaw tightens. He stops suddenly in the middle of the road, turning to look down at me. I’ve dressed carefully for this meeting, leaving my wedding ring and diamond studs in my jewelry box and the fur parka in the closet. I’d hoped that the old pair of jeans and a brand-new barn jacket would help me appear less Jackson and more backstretch, but the look in Ted’s eyes tells me I haven’t succeeded. The four-inch suede stilettos, already ruined from the mud and manure on the road between Bette’s trailer and Barn Nine, probably weren’t the most practical choice, but feeling at a disadvantage, I’d wanted to be as tall as possible for this meeting.

“What are you doing here?” Ted sounds impatient. “Why are you asking me questions about shit you don’t care about? The weather, Annie? For Christ’s sake.” He folds his arms across his chest and his gaze goes over my head, looking at nothing.

It’s time.

“I’m pregnant.”

Now that I’ve gone on and said it, I feel as though I’ve flung myself off the roof of the house and haven’t hit the ground yet. And Ted, he seems stunned as a lightening-blasted pine, his face pale.

“It’s mine,” he says softly after a long moment. He’s still not looking at me. “It’s mine. You wouldn’t have driven down here to see me unless I’m the father.” Ted runs his fingers through his dark hair and turns away.

“Damn,” I hear him whisper. “Damn and damn.”

“I brought you your jacket,” I say to his back, hopelessly. “I can go to the car and get it.” Please, please. Let him turn around. Let him look at me, at least. Please, let him turn around.

And then Ted turns around. He meets my eyes, smiles an uncertain smile, and that smile grows. Thank you, Lord, Ted smiles that great smile down at me and picks me up, my absurd stilettos leaving the dirt and dangling two feet off the ground. Face to face, he holds me, his eyes searching mine before he folds me close to him. “So, Annie not-from-here—what do we do next?” he says into my hair.

My arms around his neck, I rest my forehead on his shoulder and sigh in pure relief. “I have no earthly idea. I just wanted you to know. By the way, my last name is Banks.”