Chapter 2: Gaining Some Perspective


Once Michael saw his wife and daughter headed back through the door to the waiting room, he anxiously rose from his chair. "So what's the word? What did the doctor say?"

Amanda stood there waiting for him to hand her back her purse. "We'll tell you all about it in the car. First, I have to pay."

He looked a little embarrassed while making the hand-off. "Oh, right..."

Tracey reclaimed her seat next to her father. Michael tried to read her face or body language, but before he could make a proper assessment, his wife told them it was time to leave.

As they head home, Michael inquires again. "Either of you going to tell me how the doctor visit went?"

His wife reached over the console, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a small smile. "Ask your daughter."

Michael averted his eyes from the road to the rearview mirror. "Trace?"

She was lost in thought, trying to remember what all happened during the visit. She wanted to correspond about it later in her diary once they got home.

Her father called for her attention again. "Tracey?"

That time he got it. "Yeah, what?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Uh, the doctor. What did he say?"

Amanda corrected him. "She."

That made him feel a whole lot better. He didn't like the idea of a guy... Michael shook his head with disgust, unable to even finish the thought. "Okay, 'she'. What did she say?"

Tracey smiled before replying. "I'm five weeks pregnant and scheduled for another appointment in a week."

Her father flashed a complacent smile. Although he was satisfied they finally told him how the visit went, Amanda could tell he wanted to press another issue.

She tried to stop him. "Michael... don't."

He let go of his wife's hand.

"Don't what?" asked Tracey.

Her mother let out a sigh, turning to look at her daughter in the back seat. "He wants to know who the father is. But I informed him that just like being pregnant is your news to tell; you'll tell us who the father is when you're ready. Am I right?"

Michael let out a scoff along with a sarcastic remark. "Yeah, I love the amount of blind confidence you place in our daughter who kept the fact that she was even pregnant from me in the first place."

Although he wasn't looking in his wife's direction, he could feel her glaring at him. Amanda's eyes felt like daggers in the side of his head. He realized his mistake but not before it was too late. The words had escaped his lips.

Amanda spat. "At least I support her!"

Thankfully the car came to a stop before Tracey hopped out. "ARGH! I should have known you guys were lying to me when you said you'd stop arguing!"

The slamming of a car door put a stop to her parent's argument as they watched their daughter flee the backseat.

"Great," said Amanda exiting the car to chase after her. "There she goes!" Before she shuts the door, she informed her husband. "You need to learn to accept this and be more sensitive. Our daughter is going through a difficult enough time as it is with hormones and..."

Michael put up a hand to stop her. "I get it."

Amanda walked away, talking under her breath. "I don't think you do."


Tears dripped onto the pages of her diary as Tracey wrote in it.

I'm home from college for Fall break and things are already off to a horrible start. I shared a secret with my mother that she ended up being cooler with than I imagined. She took me to Dollar Pills to get an at-home pregnancy test. When we got home, my brother teased me about it. I know if he knew that's what that was, he wouldn't have. He can be an asshole sometimes, but deep down I know he cares. My dad came home earlier than we thought, catching us all in the kitchen in the middle of discussing me being pregnant. I don't think he overheard anything. At least he pretended not to.

He treated us like a cop getting down to the bottom of an investigation by interrogating us with the fifth degree. I'll admit he can be pretty intimidating when he wants to be. Daddy made Jimmy sweat more than usual, and I thought, "I'm going to cry" until he guessed wrong. I didn't drop out of college, I'm just pregnant, but I didn't feel like I could tell him that at the moment. He seemed pretty shocked after he swiped the small paper bag from the kitchen table and saw there was a pregnancy test inside. I knew a lecture would follow, but my mom covered for me before I could explain.

We had pizza for dinner last night, which no thanks to morning sickness, I threw up. I thought for sure I was busted when my dad passed by the bathroom, catching me puke up my guts. As it turns out, I was wrong; he just thought it was because of my bulimia. When I got up, he hugged me, and I meant to tell him then that I was pregnant but decided against it thinking, "He'll never be as understanding as he is right now." I should have known I wasn't off the hook. Later he went downstairs and argued with my mom accusing her of giving me diet pills. I know because I stood frozen at the top of the staircase.

I didn't mean to eavesdrop, feeling bad for my mom. She was covering for me, and she didn't have to. I let daddy in my room, not knowing it was him. I thought it was my mom, wanting to apologize to her. She didn't deserve the way he was treating her. When I rolled over in bed and saw it was him, a pit formed in the bottom of my stomach, I became overwhelmed with emotional hormones. I thought, "He's gonna find out sooner or later because I'm gonna start to show, which will make it harder to hide." I didn't want to hide anything from him. I decided to tell him the truth. As I watched him process the news, I could see anger set in.

I started thinking, "Where will I live?" because I was sure he was going to kick me out and disown me. Then my dad blew up, he didn't disown me or threaten to kick me out, but he sure went off. He opened my bedroom door, and surprise, surprise; my mom was behind it listening. My dad confronted her then asked me if I knew for sure I was pregnant. I told him that unless the app on my phone was lying, I am. He didn't like that I was dependent on technology to determine such a serious matter. He made a phone call scheduling me a doctor's appointment.

I didn't think he could be that mad at me for getting knocked up, but my mom proved me wrong, arguing right on cue. I had enough. My parents went at each other's throats enough as it was. I didn't need them arguing over something that didn't even concern them. After all, I am the one who is pregnant, not them. Before I went to the extreme of cutting my unborn baby's grandparents out of its life, my dad made me a proposition, no more yelling while I'm pregnant. My mom was concerned with my stress level, explaining that it wasn't good for the baby.

I didn't trust their word, so I made them swear on the Bible. The next day they took me to the doctor. My dad stayed in the waiting room while mom came with me. I'll admit I was nervous. I didn't even dare to tell the doctor to come in. I only half-listened to what the doctor was saying. The rest of the time, I was trying to picture what my baby would look like. Would it have my eyes or the father, the father I haven't even told him yet!


A knock on her bedroom door cut Tracey's diary entry short. "GO AWAY!"

Amanda had heard her daughter say those words countless other times over the years, but this time she heeds them. She knew Tracey just needed some time and space to herself. Amanda wasn't the only one. She came downstairs watching as her husband's vehicle sped out of the driveway.

She bothered calling out for her son. "JIMMY?" When he didn't respond, Amanda figured he wasn't home. She let out a sigh heading to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

Michael pulled into the parking lot of the Vanilla Unicorn, but he didn't head inside right away. Instead, he stayed in his car. "Jesus," he muttered, leaning back in his seat, raking his hands over his face. "When did life become so complicated?"

He had every right to wonder that. Life had been bordering on idyllic; since his crew had taken the Union Depository for all they could. Finally, dispatching the threats at their doors and most of the skeletons in their closets. His son actually got a job working at Burger Shot. For the first time in years, he and his wife were on good terms, and his daughter had gotten into college. With a hefty sum in the bank, his family under one roof, and legitimate work to busy himself, Michael thought things couldn't get much better, or at least that's what he had been telling himself. Then came the news that Tracey was pregnant.

He found himself needing someone on the sidelines that he could unload to. Sure he had Amanda, but almost every conversation they had lately turned into an argument rather than a discussion. While he'd been in therapy, he hadn't realized just how much it helped to rant and rave to someone. For as much as he hated that smug prick, Friedlander, for all the judging and looking down his nose. (Not to mention that damn book he'd written). Michael missed having someone to vent to. Without the release of therapy, he was steadily bottling things up again, and he knew all too well that it would slowly turn him explosively toxic. Now that the option was gone, he truly missed it. He decidedly exited the car to head into the club to unload his problems and drown his sorrows with the last person he thought he'd ever open up to.

"Mikey! Good to see you," greeted Trevor at the familiar face. The excitement in his voice was replaced with concern once he saw the gloomy look in his friend's eyes. "Man, you look like you could use a drink. Bartender, a couple of beers over here!" Trevor ushered his friend over to the bar to sit on a stool.

Michael rests his elbows on the counter and his head in his hands. "Trevor, I know you don't do the whole "feelings thing," he said air quoting. "But I could really use someone to talk to."

Michael wasn't short of people in his life, but they weren't exactly the kind of people you whined to. He did all he could to avoid baring his soul to any of his friends. It didn't feel right to go on about how hard life was getting to those guys. They didn't have domestic issues as he did, nor did they get it, and he didn't expect them to. Trevor reached over the bar impatiently, swiping a couple of bottles of hard liquor and two glasses.

The bartender caught him. "HEY!"

Trevor rolled his eyes. "What do you care?"

"I don't," she replied, "but it'd be nice if you stopped stealing from the bar. I have to restock every time you do."

Trevor pushed Michael to the backroom in his office, where they could talk in private. He sat at the desk while Michael sat on the couch.

"What's this?" asked Michael.

Trevor poured himself a glass of whiskey, then another one passing it to Michael. "I thought you of all people would recognize a drink when you saw one."

Michael gladly took the beverage from him, taking a sip. "This is good. What is it?"

Trevor picked up the bottle turning it to read the label. "I don't know. I didn't look before I grabbed it. Uh, it's Johnnie Walker." He sat back, propping his feet up on the desk. "So... what seems to be the problem?"

Michael stared at the glass of whiskey in his hand, watching as he swirled the liquid around. "T. I appreciate you trying to help..."

Trevor interjected. "No, we're not debating. I know something is eating away at you. What is it? C'mon! Think of this as free therapy!"

Michael chuckles. "You? A therapist?"

Trevor shoots him an unamused look. "Please, don't flatter yourself. Although I am a great listener, doctor Johnnie Walker here is the therapist. I'm just an unwilling third-party participant, supplying the social lubricant that will give you the liquid courage you need to spill your guts. So spill. What's up?"

Michael scratches at the stubble on his chin in contemplation then downs the whiskey. "It's Tracey."

Trevor takes his feet off the desk. Anger rises in him, knowing something is wrong with the girl he considers like a niece. "Is that cocksucker Lazlow messing with her again? I'd LOVE to get my hands on..."

Michael puts a hand up to stop him. "No, it ain't about him. Although taking it out on him would make me feel a hell of a lot better."

Trevor visibly calms down. He pours Michael another drink. "What then?"

Michael sets his glass on the desk. "I still plan on driving home, and I can't do that if I have another."

Trevor can tell he's stalling. "What is it? Stop beating around the bush and tell me! Do you want me to guess?"

Michael shakes his head. "No, don't do that. That's how I found out."

All he managed to do was further confuse his friend, causing him to lose interest. "I ain't gonna sit here and watch you mope. I've got better things to do, so if you ain't gonna tell me..." Trevor got up, threatening to leave.

Michael blurts out. "She's pregnant."

Trevor stopped in his tracks as he processed what his oldest friend just told him.

Michael was dreading his reaction, half expecting him to go on an angry rampage. "T, are you..." His friend began laughing hysterically. Trevor actually fell onto the floor laughing. Michael's reaction to Trevor's was met with confusion as he helped him off of the floor. "The fuck is so funny?"

Trevor composed himself. "You! Tracey? Pregnant? You got me!" However, the smile faded from his face once he saw the seriousness in Michael's eyes.

"Trevor, I'm glad this amuses you, but I'm not joking. I wish I were. Amanda and I took Tracey to the doctor earlier today to confirm it."

Michael watched as Trevor's demeanor changed; his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and he broke the glass in his hand, having gripped it as tight as he had. After going apeshit for fifteen minutes, eventually, Michael was able to calm Trevor down. They both sat on the couch, observing all of the damage Trevor caused to the back office. He punched several decent size holes in the wall, but not before driving a chair through it, and he had managed to flip over the desk, causing papers to strew everywhere.

Trevor caught his breath. "I never really cared for the way this office was decorated anyhow."

Michael let out a tentative laugh then more hardily as his friend joined in. He looked at Trevor placing a hand on his shoulder. "Man, are you gonna be okay?"

Trevor started crying, clenching his fists while talking through gritted teeth. "No. That little girl sat on my lap when she was two years old. I swore to God that I would rip the fucking skin off anyone who fucking wronged her!"

Michael's face crumpled. "T. It's not your fault. If anyone wronged her, it was I on account of my bad parenting. If anyone deserves to have the flesh peeled off, it's me. The mention of that cheered his pal up. "I only ask that when you do it, you do it quickly."

Trevor pats Michael on the back. "Nah, Mikey, as much pleasure as that'd bring me, the real person to blame is the one who knocked her up, so who's the father?"

Michael rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know. Every time I try to ask Tracey, her mother says, "She'll tell us when she's ready."

Trevor rises from the couch. "Man, you really are whipped. You don't wear the pants in that marriage at all."


Eventually, Michael headed home from the club. He called out as he entered the house. "Hello? Anyone home?" He made it to the living room, noticing his wife sitting on the couch. She was singing along with the stereo.

Amanda's speech's slurred as she sings out of key. She stops singing when she sees her husband. "Michael?" Hey! Honey, you're back!"

He smiles at her. His eyes dart to the floor where an empty bottle laid tipped over along with a glass. "Yeah, and you're drunk." Amanda attempts to get up off the couch, nearly stumbling until her husband steadies her wrapping his arms around her. "Easy, how much did you drink?"

She lets out a loud, obnoxious laugh repeating the question. "How much did I drink?"

Michael helps her upstairs to bed, but his wife acts childishly while intoxicated whiny, unruly, and outlandish. As he tucks her in, he tries coaxing her. "C'mon, just lay back, close your eyes, and go to sleep."

Amanda sits up in bed fussing, protesting, and flailing her arms and legs about. "Noooo! I don't want to go to sleep!"

Her husband tries to get her to cooperate by making a compromise. "If I lay beside you, will you go to sleep?" A wicked smile splays across her face as she pulls him by the arm. "Mandy, what the..."

She lies back, pulling him atop of her as her lips meet his for a drunken sloppy kiss. Michael can taste the wine on her tongue as she slips it in his mouth. His eyes grow wide, knowing his wife goes through two stages while drunk: childish, and lustful. She was working her way through them rather quickly. Her hands roam his body, but once they make it to his pants, she has trouble taking them off because of Michael's belt. He is thankful she stopped because although he loves his wife, he doesn't think it would be dignified to have sex given the fragile state that she's in.

Amanda lays back feeling embarrassed, shamefully covering her face with her hands apologizing for her actions. "Oh, I'm sorry... I don't know what I was thinking."

Michael smirks. "It's... all right." He retrieves the trashcan placing it on her side of the bed in case she gets sick through the night. He walks around to his side of the bed, lying down next to her atop the covers.

Amanda curls up next to him. "Will you hold me?"

He scoots closer to her. "Of course. C'mere." He wraps an arm around her, gently stroking his wife's hair. He spoke calmly and softly. "Mind if I ask what possessed you to drink an entire bottle of Pinot?"

She closed her eyes, whimpering a little at the question. However, her response was muffled, having spoken into his chest.

"What?" asked Michael. "I can't understand what you said. You have to talk to me, not into me."

Amanda pulls her face away from her husband to repeat herself. "I have my reservations about being a..." she whispers the last part, "grandma."

Her husband releases a chuckle. "Awww, is that what this is all about?" She shakes her head. "I know how you feel. To be honest, I'm not that thrilled about being a grandpa at my age, but we're gonna have a grandkid, and that's something to look forward to." He feels his wife relax in his arms as she begins drifting off to sleep.

"Mandy?"

She nestles into him. "Hmm?"

Michael kisses the top of her head. "I love you."

She lets out a content sigh. "I love you too, Michael."


Friday, October 24, 2014

The next morning, Tracey's woken by her cellphone from a notification alert. She rolls over; noticing the time on the clock reads 7:30 AM. She picks up her phone, realizing she got a text from Trevor. What does he want? She wonders. She swipes to unlock her phone to retrieve the text from her uncle.

Her eyes are still adjusting from sleep but from what she can tell the message reads: "Congr8ulations r n order. UR dad told me u got a bun in da oven. Whose da father?"

Tracey lets out a sharp, loud shrill scream waking the entire house.

Michael darts out of bed at the sound of his daughter's voice. He kicks in her bedroom door to see what's wrong. "What the hell? Are you okay?" He asks in a panic tone. She angrily holds up her phone. He takes it from her to see for himself. "Ah, hell," he comments after reading the text.

"You told uncle Trevor! Why daddy? Why did you tell HIM of all people?"

Michael figured she deserved to know the truth. "I don't know! I'm not in therapy anymore, and I don't exactly have many people I can talk about this kinda thing."

Since she found out she was pregnant, Tracey hadn't even considered how it would affect anyone else aside from herself. She accepted her father's answer then raced past him to the bathroom to throw up.

Jimmy came out of his room, wondering what was going on. "What's her problem?"

"Nothing Jim, go back to sleep."

His son lets out a yawn. "No, once I'm up, I'm up."

Amanda awoke with a hangover. She headed downstairs to brew some coffee, and to her surprise, her son was already in the kitchen. "What are you doing up this early?"

Jimmy finished chewing his bite of cereal before replying. "My stupid, inconsiderate sister, that's what!"

His mother glared in his direction, defending her daughter. "Hey, your sister is not stupid. She's pregnant."

Jimmy scoffed, mumbling a remark under his breath. "Yeah, like there's a difference."

Amanda turned around to lecture her son, but by the time she did, he fled the kitchen, taking his cereal with him. Luckily, the bell saved him when the landline rang.

She called out to him, "WE'RE NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THIS!" She checked the caller ID before picking up the receiver. The number belonged to the college. "Hello, De Santa residence this is Amanda speaking." A male voice she didn't recognize spoke through the other end of the phone. The call didn't last long, ending before Michael came into the kitchen.

"Feeling any better?" He asked, stretching.

His wife's tone wasn't convincing. "Yeah, a little."

He could tell there was something on her mind. "What's going on?"

She sat next to him at the table. "The weirdest thing just happened."

Michael looked at her in confusion. "Why what happened?"

Amanda acted as if she wasn't sure how to tell him herself because she was just as confused. "Well, for starters, our son is up while the sun is." Her husband laughed. "And secondly..."

Michael encouraged her to finish her sentence. "Secondly..." He sat there waiting.

"A guy from Tracey's school called."

Michael raised an eyebrow. Then a light bulb went off in his head. "Did the guy say who he was or what he wanted?"

"Yeah," replied Amanda. "It was one of Tracey's professors calling to ask if she would return next semester."

There was a hint of sarcasm in Michael's voice. "Oh, really?" His wife could tell where this was going and what he was getting at, but it was too late. He called out. "TRACEY, COME DOWN HERE!"

Amanda tried to reason with him. "Honey, I'm sure there's a good explanation..."

Their daughter interrupted her. "What?"

Tracey stood there wondering what they wanted. A loud noise sounded upstairs as Jimmy slammed his bedroom door shut to drown out all the yelling.

Michael, who wanted to know about the school, redirected the focus at Tracey. "Why is the school calling here asking about you?"

His daughter shrugged. "I don't know!"

Michael didn't care for her tone, but he had to remind himself that she was pregnant and that stress was bad for her, so he took in a deep cleansing breath before continuing. "I'm only going to ask you this one time and one time only. Don't lie to me." She shook her head, acknowledging she understood. "Did you drop out of college?"

Tracey grew frustrated, stomping her foot. "No, I already told you I didn't drop out of school!"

Michael put his hands up defensively, trying to get his daughter to calm down, given her current condition. "Easy, take it easy." He pulled up a chair for her to sit on. "Take a seat."

Tracey seated herself. "Thank you." Amanda got her a cup of water. She took a sip before asking, "Who was it?"

Michael looked to his wife for the answer because he didn't know himself. He noted that his daughter grew nervous and fidgety as his wife spoke. "It was one of your professors," replied Amanda.

Tracey set her cup on the table. "Which one?"

Her mother pondered for a moment, trying to recall. "A Professor Patrick something..."

Tracey nearly choked as she took another sip of water. Her father lightly pats her on the back to prevent this. "You all right?"

She coughs a couple of times before responding. "Yeah, fine, what did... what did he want?"

Amanda continued. "Nothing, he just called to ask if you were coming back next semester or not."

Tracey scooted out of her chair, holding her stomach. A wave of nausea hit her. "Suddenly, I don't feel so good..." she said, taking off upstairs to throw up.

"I'll look after her," said Amanda.

Michael was left, sitting alone at the kitchen table, feeling questionable himself. Not in the same sense of being sick too, but in the sense of wondering about Tracey's professor. He got an idea deciding to grab his keys off the hook to go for a drive.

Before he left, he called upstairs. "MANDY? I'M GOING OUT FOR A LITTLE WHILE. IF YOU NEED ME, MY PHONE'S ON AND WITH ME."

His wife called through the bathroom door. "OKAY, DON'T STAY OUT TOO LATE!"

He climbed the first step on the stairs calling back, "I WON'T!"


Michael got in his car with one destination in mind El Burro Heights. He dialed Lester's number on the way there.

"Who is this? How did you get this number?" asked a paranoid Lester.

"Take it easy there. It's just me."

"Oh... I wish I could say that it's nice to hear from you, but I honestly can't believe I'm hearing from you at all. Why are you calling?"

Michael chuckles into the phone. "What? Can't I call up an old friend and ask how he's doing?"

There was a long pause before Lester dryly replied, "No, I know you. What are you up to? Have you gotten greedy in your old age, was robbing the Union Depository not enough? Do you want me to organize pulling off an even bigger heist?"

Michael waited for Lester to quit rambling. "No, it ain't about that. Besides, money only solved half of my problems."

"Well," said Lester. "Whatever it is, it must be pretty serious if you're coming to my place for help."

A look of confusion swept over Michael's face. "What makes you think I'm anywhere near your place? What did you trace my phone?"

Lester looked at the monitor that showed the street view outside his place, watching as Michael approached the front steps. Before he had the chance to knock on the door, Lester buzzed Michael in.

"Oh right..." Michael entered the house, passing the security camera on his way inside. He hung up his cellphone, placing it in his pocket.

Lester wheeled his way over to Michael, who took a seat on the bed. "I think it's safe to say this isn't a social visit, and you told me that whatever it is doesn't pertain to a heist, so I'm honestly at a loss for how I can help you."

Michael shook his head. "Where do I start?"

"How about at the beginning." At the end of his tale, Lester wondered why Michael bothered mentioning all of the other stuff and didn't just skip to the last part. "Sure, I can tell you if there's any guy by the name of Patrick who works as a professor at your daughter's school."

Michael watched as his friend put his computer skills to work. Lester looked up the university website pulling up a page that listed the names of all of the members of faculty, staff, and students. Through the process of elimination, Lester was able to come up with two results.

"Ah, there you have it. These are the only two professors with 'Patrick' in their name. The first guy teaches linguistics. Does he strike you as familiar?"

Michael leaned in closer, looking at the guy's picture on the website. He was an older intellectual-looking guy with salt and pepper gray hair and a beard. "I don't know. I've never actually met any of Tracey's teachers."

Lester came up with a solution. "Do you know Tracey's class schedule?"

Michael shamefully admitted, "No."

Lester hacked into the universities registration list, noting when Tracey signed up, what classes she signed up for, and who taught them. "Here, according to this, she's taking a class on Creative Writing taught by Professor Patrick Jefferies."

Michael grew anxious. "Does he have a page like the other guy you showed me?"

Lester pulled it up so he could see for himself. Unlike the first guy, Michael noted this one was much younger and relatively better looking. "What does it say?"

Lester read it aloud. "Not much. It just lists off his teaching degrees, accomplishments, and personal life."

Michael sighed while pacing back and forth, he was developing a hunch, and he didn't like it. He reluctantly asked, "What's his relationship status? Is he married?"

Lester was baffled but read on. "Uh... No, he's single. Why do you ask? Why are you so interested in a pencil-pushing, book reading, brown nose?"

Michael shook his head, raked his hands over his face, and laughed smugly at himself. "Because Lester, if my speculations are correct, and I hope to God they're not Tracey's slept with her professor, and now she's pregnant with his baby."