Bounty(28)

“Krys,” I whispered.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered back.

“I know,” I repeated what I’d said before, but this time did it gently.

“Got no call to have a baby,” she shared, her voice unravelling.

Where did that come from?

I leaned forward a bit and asked, “Why on earth would you say that?”

“My momma was a bitch. Fucked-up, crazy-ass, selfish bitch. Treated me like shit, total shit, you would not believe. I didn’t even fuckin’ believe it, until I had no choice. That is, she treated me like shit when she remembered I was breathin’.”

I nodded, said nothing but felt a lot, pissed and sad that Krystal had gone through that.

“That’s what she taught me,” she declared.

Ah.

There we go.

“You’re not your mother,” I replied.

“I’m fucked-up, crazy-ass and selfish and there are few in these parts who would shy away from using the b-word when it comes to me too.”

This, I did not doubt.

I also didn’t confirm it.

What I did was think of Tate Jackson watching Bubba and Krystal while they played their roles of local good ole boy and hard-ass bitch and doing that watching with obvious affection.

“You babysit?” I asked.

“What?” she snapped.

“You said your man volunteers you two to babysit your friends’ kids all the time. Do you do it?”

“Of course,” she answered immediately.

And still, she did not see.

“You a fucked-up, crazy-ass bitch to your friends’ kids?” I pushed.

“They aren’t mine twenty-four-fuckin’-seven,” she informed me.

“Babe,” I said quietly, leaning closer. “Just the fact that you’re a good enough friend to babysit your friends’ kids says everything about you. Hell, the fact you have friends says everything about you and that isn’t getting into the fact that they want you to babysit. Your mother do anything like that?”

She looked to the windshield.

I didn’t know her as far as I could throw her.

But I still guessed that meant no.

“You acted like a fucked-up, crazy-ass bitch when I met you,” I shared and her eyes shot back to me, squinty, but she was in a vulnerable place and couldn’t quite hide the hurt even if she had to know I spoke truth. “But, girl, when you touched your belly, it was like you were stroking the miracle you know that’s growing inside you. You give it good, I’ll give you that,” I told her, nodding my head. “That wall you got around you is built tall and edged in razor wire, keeping anyone out that might cause you harm. Thing is, you built that wall, let your man live back there with you, and you’re gonna have your baby behind it with the two of you. I think you’ve made a good start.”

She dropped a hand to her belly, looking down at it, and saying, “What if I fuck this up?”

“You sitting alone in your car, my guess, tough as nails, yet worried to the point of tears, I’m not thinking that’s gonna be a problem.”

She looked again to me but didn’t move her hand from her belly.

“Shit like that can rear up, you don’t even know it.”

“Don’t let it,” I returned.

The impatient snap was back. “Simple as that, you think?”

“I don’t think anything about parenthood is simple and, I don’t want to fuck with your head, girl, but even if you get beyond thinking stupid shit like this, you’re still gonna have other stuff rear up.”

The snap was now angry. “This shit isn’t stupid.”

I leaned close and hissed, “Yes it is. Because, Krystal, if you can build that wall to protect yourself, what are you gonna do for your child? Whatever happened with your mom did not break you. You’re still standing. You got a bar. You got friends. You got a man. You got a baby on the way. You’re hot. You’re crazy, but you’re funny. You don’t take any shit and got the balls to give it. Not sure a baby doctor would list all those things in the pro column of how to be a good mother and live your life in a way you teach your child valuable lessons of how to be a survivor. But the way this world runs and all the fucked-up, crazy-ass shit in it a parent has to shield their kid from the best they can, especially in this burg, which seems like a magnet for it, I’d say that doctor didn’t know shit from Shinola.”

She’d tucked her chin in her neck as I spoke but when I was done, it came out and she declared, “Jesus, girlfriend, don’t beat around the bush.”

“I don’t like to see women crying in their cars and being down on themselves. And for future reference, even though you won’t need it, just so you know, I can be sensitive. It’s that I’m just as good, swinging both ways.”