This chapter, from Soda's POV takes from where "The Worst Thing I Did" leaves off. Some close to "M" sex stuff in this chapter; but hopefully not "M."

California, 1969

I make a run for the toilet and sit my ass on the throne just in time shit out "Norma's Patty Melt."

And man, am I glad that I went for the patty melt and not "Uncle Chet's Famous Chili."

I have no fuckin' clue who Norma and Uncle Chet are. Our waitress was named Constance. Not Connie, Constance. First thing that came to my mind was how much extra dough they had to spend to get Constance printed on the name tag and not Connie.

I channel my inner Darry at the most random moments.

Constance was on the wrong side of 40, wore heavy blue eye shadow and was approximately 20 months pregnant.

I see her tryin' to carry a full tray of food to our table, and I run up and try to give her a hand. "Sit down, let me take it, I got it." I give her a grin and offer to carry her tray for the rest of her shift.

It pissed me off to no end. Where the hell was Uncle Chet when you needed him? Or a busboy? I mean this woman looked like she was gonna pop right over the day old Danish and no one offered her a hand.

She didn't take me up on my offer.

"Ain't you a doll, but I got it baby." She's giving me a look and I can't tell if she wants to fuck me right on the table or give me a plate of warm cookies and milk.

I kinda have that effect on women, even middle aged pregnant ones.

Truthfully, I offered to help for two reasons. One, I might be colossal fuck up, but the lessons of good manners my parents installed in the three of us are still with me and it's wrong to make a pregnant lady do heavy liftin' like that. Two, I was sorta hoping that if I helped her she would convince her boss to give us the meal for free. Or, at least throw in a bunch of day ol' Danish in a doggie bag for us.

"That was nice of you," my travel buddy, who's name is Mary, told me.

I shrugged, "don't seem right that they have her on her feet all day in this place."

Without missing a beat Mary said, "Uncle Chet probably did it."

And for the first time in a long time I laugh.

I return from the crapper about 30 lbs lighter.

Mary is still sitting at the booth, staring at the window at something.

I'm kinda surprised to see her, I half expected her to hightail it out of there. Wouldn't blame her in the least. The way she was lookin' at me when I was telling her about Anna she looked plenty disgusted at me.

Instead she looks up at me, "what's your baby's name? You never told me your little boy's name."

In spite of my best efforts I feel my lips curling up into an involuntary smile, "Patrick" I whispered.

She gives me a slight smile, "that's a strong name."

My mind goes back to Vietnam. Anna just had the baby and I'm callin' them to see how they're doing. It took me a week to get in touch with her. War puts a damper on communication.

She told me she had a baby boy and I felt my heart fall into my gut and then bounce back up again.

Her voice is full of pride, "8 lbs, huge baby, real healthy" and I can FEEL her grin and her happiness.

"You did good," I tell her.

There's a pause on the other side of the receiver, and Anna doesn't get a lot of compliments for things outside the bedroom, so she probably doesn't know what to say, but she tells me, "thank you" in a strange voice.

And I realize why it sounds so strange, she's happy.

"What's his name?" I'm gripping onto the receiver, lookin' at the switchboard in the telephone room light up. Orange, green and red lights fill my vision.

And for the first time ever I hear her voice become vulnerable and it cracks slightly. "Patrick."

And in that moment, though I can't see her, I feel something for her beyond lust, obligation and dislike. Maybe I even love her.

She's a mother. My son's mama.

My son.

HOLY SHIT, I have a kid.

"That's my name," I say softly, "my middle name is Patrick."

My eyes start to water, a bit, thinking about my baby with my name being welcomed into the world.

Anna's voice grows hard and I can hear her practically spit into the receiver, "I didn't name him after you!" She then goes onto mutter, "Shit, always so full of yourself, Goddammit." Oh yeah, Anna swore better than most soldiers.

The happiness I felt a few minutes ago of finding out about my son and the love, or at least care I felt for Anna goes out the window.

"Well no shit girlie!"

And just like that we're at each other's throats again.

She tells me, once again, that she hates the fact that I'm Patrick's dad.

I tell her that I ain't exactly braggin' about having a baby with a crazy whore.

I ain't proud of that. Don't get me wrong, it was true, but it was a low blow. I shouldn't call any woman a whore. It's not nice.

She tells me that the next time she sees me she's gonna cut off my dick. "Gonna save girls from your limpy dick."

I hear Patrick cry in the background.

Welcome to the world Paddy boy!

I shiver. Tryin' to get the memories of Patrick out of my mind.

I've already told Mary so much about me, I might as well continue.

I don't want her to think I'm a good guy.

"Anna. She worked at a bar in Saigon until she gave birth. She danced on the table-naked. She sucked dicks for money."

I didn't want her to do it, but she wouldn't listen to me.

"Your sperm gets lucky one time and you think you own me!" She screamed at me.

Anna was even more popular with guys after she became visibly pregnant.

Or as Anna said, "I take off my dress and show them my belly and they go crazy and they dicks stick up. Shit, I knew this I would have gotten big a long time ago."

"She was givin' a guy a blow job when she went into labor, but she still continued." I tell Mary.

Mary doesn't say anything, so I continue, "and I knew about it. I knew about her workin' at a bar, having sex and performin' blow jobs for the entire male population of Saigon. You know how I know? I bought my buddies to her."

Mary looks disgusted.

Good, good, good. Cause it is disgusting.

But in my defense, we needed the money and Anna woulda done it anyways, better she sucks the dicks of people I know rather than a bunch of strangers. Plus, I knew my buddies wouldn't be too rough with her.

But it was still wrong.

"But, I like it rough," she tells me. "Rough and hard," these guys you bring over so soft & weak, "Call me 'miss', half of them just want to talk to me. Kiss me. On lips. Shit. I hate talking. I just want to fuck." She would glare at me, "I hate being pregnant."

I shrug, "we coulda taken care of it months ago. Ain't my fault."

Heck, I understood where she was comin' from. Until I met Anna, I didn't know that it was possible for a woman to do that to me. We both had scars from the night we conceived Patrick. Maybe I'm old fashion, but it just seemed wrong that she still wanted to all of that when she was pregnant.

But I smiled when she told me that my guys didn't want to touch her.

They're good guys.

I trusted them.

But I can't have had Mary think I'm a good guy.

Cause I ain't.

Not anymore.

I don't tell Mary about how Anna would attack my buddies in bed, tryin' to get them to hit her. That was one of her turn ons.

I didn't tell her that Anna would lie down on a bed, put finely grounded up smack on her belly and her breasts and have guys snort it off her.

That was all her idea. "guys go crazy."

She was right. She was real smart. I mean, like Darry smart. Hell, she kinda reminded me a bit of Darry in that way, cept Darry's a good guy. She earned enough money to buy an apartment for herself and her mother in a nice area of Saigon. She had a good mind for business. And she did give great head.

I don't want her to think badly of Anna either.

She is my kid's mama.

Or, maybe was.

We leave the diner, both looking at Constance tryin' to balance a platter of chillis.

I give Mary a hug and kiss her forehead. It felt kinda good.

I tell her thanks for the meal again.

"That rootbeer float, man, that was tasty" I lick my lips.

I say goodbye.

I figure Mary wouldn't want anything more with me. Hell, if she was smart she would get the hell out of dodge.

Instead she follows me to the bench.

"You mind more company?"

I'm surprised.

"Um, no darlin', you sure?"

She looks at me, her eyes are dark brown-almost black and they kinda remind me of Johnny's eyes.

"Yeah, I like listening to your stories. I don't like travelin' on my own."

Her voice is a monotone.

Her eyes look real soft though, open and giving.

And I hate myself for tellin' her about Anna and the blow jobs, about Anna period, because I want her to like me. And it's hard to like a guy like me.

Ain't that a bitch? Ten minutes ago I wanted her to hate me, now I want her to like me.

She curls up next to me and leans against my chest.

"I'm real sorry about your baby," her voice is low, "I bet you woulda made a real good daddy."

Glory! She must be more junked up than I am. Although she don't look like the type of chick would do hard drugs. Wine and maybe some grass. Maybe.

"How you figure?" I ain't fishin' for compliments, I genuinely want to know; because inviting guys to give my lady blow jobs while she's pregnant and then freakin' out on them during the only time I saw my kiddo don't exactly scream 'father of the year' to me.

She sighs and plays with her silver cross necklace. "Well, I dunno; but the way you talked about him you had so much love in your eyes. I know you would do anything to see your baby boy again."

And I cry. Real tears. Fuck. But, I don't care.

My sobs rack against my chest, and my crying is messy. My shoulders drop and they shake uncontrollably and I'm not use to this. Not anymore.

My crying is loud and people are looking at us. Some asshole starts laughing. But I don't care.

Because I have a son and I don't even know if he's alive or dead.

She doesn't look embarrassed at all, she just gives me a hug.

She's the first person I told about Patrick too.

And she's still with me.

Maybe I ain't that bad of a guy.

Her eyes are like magnets.

A few minutes later...

"Do you got any smack?"

My body does a jolt. Holy shit. So much for my guess that this chica don't do any hard drugs. Man, and I use to be so good at readin' people.

I look at her and I recognize that look in her eyes, that hunger.

That need. That want. It's a look both helpless and dangerous.

She's a junkie.

She probably don't even like me, just wants my stash.

But that's okay. I've taken so much from my buddies, my brothers, everyone; that I'm happy to give her what I have.

And right now smack and stories are the only thing I have to offer her.

"Yeah, baby, I do."

And she smiles and I smile at her.

But I ain't thinking about her, and she probably ain't thinking about me.

We're thinking about getting high.

A/N: S.E. Hinton owns.