Chapter 13

Waking up the next morning wasn’t all warm and fuzzy. I woke up first and got up to use the bathroom. When I came out, Phoebe was sitting on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair.

“I’m late,” she said. “I have to go get Chris.”

“I’ll take you,” I offered.

“No. That’s okay. I need to go home. I need a shower.”

I followed her out of the bedroom to the front door.

“When will I see you again?” I asked.

“I don’t know. After I get cleaned up I’m going to call Hannah.”

“You have her number?”

“Yes, she gave it to me.”

“Do you feel any better at all?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her brown eyes serious.

“I don’t feel worse,” she offered.

“I guess I’ll take what I can get,” I said.

“That might be what got you into this mess in the first place, Bob.”

Then she was gone and I was left to wander around my little house, wondering what was going to happen. I tried to call Hannah, to update her on what had transpired, but my call went to voicemail.

Things didn’t seem to be getting better. I didn’t hear from either woman all weekend. I levered myself out of bed Monday morning and went to school. At least it was something to do that would take my mind off of my troubles. I hadn’t brought my own lunch that day, so I got a tray from the cafeteria and took it to the teacher’s lounge. I was twirling spaghetti on my plastic fork when Phoebe appeared as if by magic and sat across from me.

“Hi,” she said, opening her brown paper sack and reaching inside it. She brought out a plastic container that had what looked like meatloaf in it. A zip lock bag containing carrots and celery followed, and an individually boxed tiny lemon pie I recognized as having come from Wal-Mart.

“Hi,” I said. “I’ll trade you lunch.”

She looked at my tray and said, “The green beans always look so anemic.”

We spoke a few more times as we ate, but not about what was on my mind. It was possible we were both just avoiding a sticky issue, resting from tilting against that particular dragon for a while, but I worried that, in her mind, she had decided we’d just be friends and was already acting on that plan.

Before I knew it the time allotted for mid-day nourishment had expired and Phoebe stood up. She paused and looked at me.

“Hannah and I had a long talk.”

“Okay,” I said, carefully. “Am I allowed to ask about it?”

“We don’t have time to discuss it now.”

“I’d be happy to take you and Chris out to dinner tonight,” I offered.

“That would be acceptable,” she said. “Pick us up at six?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks.”

I went back to my classroom. When the bell rang I was still thinking about the last thing she’d said: “Thanks.” Not, “I can’t wait.” Not, “I’m looking forward to it.” Not even “I’ll be glad to get this situation resolved.” Just, “Thanks.” She could just as well have said, “I have to eat, so I may as well let you pay for it.”

“Mister Carpenter?”

My head jerked as I came back to the real world. Julie Grisham, my eager, young, straight A student was sitting in the front row, as usual, her hand up. Some dim place in my brain told me she’d called my name more than once.

“Yes?”

“You were just standing there. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I said. Then I had a thought. “Probably. It depends on whether or not the zombie apocalypse has started or not.”

The room had been noisy, but it suddenly got quite as every head turned to stare at me.

“Let’s talk about that,” I said. “What do we know about zombies?”

I got blank looks.

“Anybody?” I prompted.

“They aren’t real,” came a voice from the back.

“How do we know?” I asked. “None of you have ever seen a quark, but they’re real.”

Spending half an hour on discussing the science of why zombies (as commonly described) could not exist in a Newtonian universe finally got my mind off of my woman problems.

The kids also had a good time.

I took them to a place called Grizzlies, which was known for truly amazing burgers, but also served things like chicken fried steak, fried chicken, pot roast, and other things like that. They had a set of crayons at each table and the tables were covered with sheets of butcher paper torn off a big roll so the kids could draw as much as they wanted to. Chris set to with glee.

After the server took our drink order, I leaned back and just looked at Phoebe. I felt lucky I was getting to do that. She saw me staring, but it didn’t make her uncomfortable, which made me feel even luckier. I remember this, actually feeling lucky, because of what happened next.

“I talked to Hannah,” said Phoebe.

There are a number of responses to that kind of opening. “You already told me that” is one. “How is she?” perhaps, or maybe, “And what did she have to say?” “What’s going on in her part of the woods?” might seem apropos. My situation was a bit different. None of those normal responses seemed appropriate. In fact I couldn’t think of anything to say at all.

Phoebe looked at Chris and said, “We discussed your play dates.”

“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows. What the heck did that mean?

“I told her I understand why she might want to have more play dates with you.”

Ahhh. Now I got it. Chris was here. She had to talk in code.

“So there was ... discussion? About ... um ... more play dates?”

“Yes. They want very much to increase their progeny.”

“That really is the only reason we were having play dates in the first place,” I said.

“I know. We had a long talk about that. Hannah asked if she could make more play dates with you.”

This was delivered in a normal voice, but I expected to see non-verbal communication. I looked at her but saw nothing.

“And what did you say?”

“I told her I felt like one more addition to the group might be acceptable.”

“Really!” I have to admit I was a little dumbfounded.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

“Okay,” I said. “And what, then?”

“And after that no more play dates.”

Now you understand why I remember feeling so lucky. The agreement they had come to was astounding. Actually it was astounding that Phoebe stuck around to enter into an agreement at all, much less one that meant the man she was interested in would father another woman’s baby one more time. Part of the astonishment was that Phoebe had just made it clear she wasn’t going to just cut her losses and walk away. That, alone, made my heart race. You might think the idea of getting to keep shooting in Hannah would have been uppermost in my mind but it wasn’t. What was most important to me, at that moment, was that there might be a future that included Phoebe in my life.

Turns out talking in code is a good idea.

“No more play dates? Why not?” asked Chris, suddenly. “Play dates are fun!”

“They are,” I said, trying to make his interruption go with the flow.

“Except if they’re like this one,” he observed, crayon poised above paper. “This one is kind of boring.”

“We’re not on a play date,” said his mother. “We came here to eat. You know that.”

“I know,” he said, going back to work. “It’s still boring.”

I looked at Phoebe, who looked calm, cool and collected. I couldn’t get over the concept that Hannah had asked for Phoebe’s permission to let me get one more baby in her. Phoebe didn’t appear to have any anger about it. There were no little tell-tale signs of discomfort or angst, no tapping of a fingernail on the tabletop, no frown.

“That’s very generous of you,” I suggested, tentatively.

“I think so, too,” she said, staring right at me.

I had to ask.

“Who will I have play dates with after that?”

She didn’t bat an eye.

“Don’t get the cart ahead of the horse,” she said.

“Can I take that to mean that mean I have a horse?”

“Let’s just say it’s possible you have access to a horse,” she said.

“Goody!” piped Chris. “Can I ride your horse, Bob?”

It wasn’t seamless, though as far as I could tell things were relatively painless. Phoebe and I went out two or three times a week, and the relationship seemed as stable as I could have hoped for. I have a suspicion that Phoebe and Hannah stayed in contact, because whenever Hannah called to let me know when she’d be coming, Phoebe always seemed to have something to do on those nights. Generally that was only one weekend a month, though.

Hannah never talked about their agreement. She simply moaned under me, exhorting me to do my best to defeat one of her eggs. “Defeat” probably isn’t the best word to use in that context, because her willingness to be naked with me and open herself to my love held nothing but hope. “Defeat” also usually has a negative context, but in this case something would be built and cherished and loved.

It took three more months before we finally killed the rabbit. Hannah visited one last time (as my lover) to tell me the news and celebrate our success at making another baby. She cried a little, and clung to me, lurching up against me as I slowly slid in and out of her.

“I’m going to miss this,” she whimpered.

“You have Austin,” I reminded her.

“Yes, and I love doing this with him, too. It’s just different. With you I know it could get me pregnant.”

“It did get you pregnant, I reminded her.

“Yes, but this is the last time. From now on you’re going to be Phoebe’s alone.”

“Unless she breaks up with me,” I said.

“She won’t. She’s crazy about you, Bobby. I hear it in her voice. She’s been so patient.”

“To be honest I don’t think she wants to take things much farther than they already are.”

“Then you’re not paying attention.”

I slid in and rotated, trying to coax an orgasm out of my sister.

“You have to remember to do that with her,” gasped Hannah. “You have no idea how wonderful that feels.”

“I have some idea,” I said. I felt like spewing but didn’t want it to be over yet. She was staying the night, and I knew we’d make love at least once more before she left, but I still wanted this to last.

“She’s going to love this, too,” panted Hannah. “She needs a good man in her life. She’s so lucky it’s going to be you.”

“We’ll see,” I said. “I still think she’s reluctant to go farther. All we’ve done is kiss.”

“She’s waiting until she has you all to herself,” gasped Hannah. “Don’t stop, I’m almost there.”

I didn’t, and I felt her body begin the series of movements, both inward and out, that signaled she was having an orgasm.

While she did it I released my semen into her body, drenching her with as much liquid love as I could.

We slept for a while and then woke to cuddle and make the beast with two backs again in the middle of the night. The next morning she rode me, letting me pull her thick nipples one last time. I gave her my last dose of incestuous sperm, superfluous as it was. She kissed me for a minute and then got up. She didn’t shower. She said she wanted my gift inside her as she drove home.

When she left I felt a little empty. A very important phase in my life was over. Most of the world would say that was a good thing, that we should never have done what we did in the first place. But to me, it was as if I’d lost a piece of myself.

Five hours later I called Phoebe and told her the news that Hannah was pregnant.

“I’m glad,” she said, quietly. “They wanted this very badly.”

“Hannah didn’t tell me to thank you, but I know she’d want that. You let her have something no other woman would normally allow.”