Farah's Deadline Read online

  Farah’s Deadline

  By Brenda Maxfield

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  FARAH’S DEADLINE

  Copyright © 2013 BRENDA MAXFIELD

  ISBN 978-1-62135-210-5

  Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIOS

  For my mother, who taught me early the fun of playing with words.

  Chapter One

  I planned to be married at sixteen.

  Note to self: Things don’t always go as planned.

  Which was why I was riding in the front seat of our car, a virtual prisoner. Dad pulled into the long, curving driveway of Pleasant Living Home. The name itself was enough to make a person gag — and being two months pregnant, I’d been gagging plenty.

  Dad’s knuckles blanched white on the steering wheel, and a thin moustache of sweat lined his upper lip. He stopped the car under an ivy-covered portico and glanced over at me.

  “We’re here, kiddo,” he said. His voice climbed an octave, and a slight tremor shook beneath his words.

  “So I see.”

  “This is it.” He stared at me, I guess waiting for me to agree or gush or fall at his feet with gratitude. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

  A few seconds passed, and I muttered, “Right.” Unlike my dad’s, there was no tremor in my voice, only steel. I wouldn’t be staying at Pleasant Living Home for long. I wouldn’t have to — Pete would rescue me. He’d been a total pig earlier, but he’d change his tune.

  “Shall we get your things?” Dad asked, grabbing the door handle.

  “Oh, let’s.” The steel in my voice morphed into snarky sarcasm.

  Whatever.

  Dad jumped out of the car as if going on a picnic. I knew the reason for his enthusiasm — sheer relief to be dumping off his problem child. Never, under any circumstances, should people face their problems. I’d learned that lesson years ago when Dad and Mom kicked my brother out of the house, and later when Mom kicked Dad out.

  Now, it was my turn to be kicked.

  To a pregnancy home no less. Who knew they even existed anymore? What was this — the 1950s?

  I pushed open the heavy door, climbed out, and surveyed Pleasant Living Home. The rambling brick house was set back off the road, smack in the middle of winter-naked trees. Every window was decked out with one of those miniature lamps — the kind meant to welcome strangers, losers, and injured strays.

  Which one was I?

  “Ready to go in?” Dad asked, interrupting my thoughts. He came around the car, weighed down with two bulky designer cases.

  Mother had lent me her luggage — a total shocker, since she’d quit claiming me weeks before.

  The front door burst open, and an over-eager middle-aged couple spilled outside. The woman fairly skipped to greet me, her wispy gray-blond hair swishing around her shoulders. Her husband couldn’t keep up. He plodded behind in a steady pace and greeted my dad with a handshake.

  “You’re here!” I swear the woman chirped. She rushed over and swallowed me in a mooshy hug. She was pudgy, so I hadn’t expected any great strength, but she squeezed the breath right out of me. I struggled to release myself.

  This visit was already too long.

  “Farah Menins, I’m Steve.” The man studied my face and offered his hand.

  I grabbed it hard to make sure he knew who was going to be in charge. He flinched but said nothing.

  “I’m Edie, your house mother,” the woman said, opening her arms wide to usher us all inside like one happy family.

  I jagged to the side. Who’d want to be part of their sheep-like herd? I followed, taking my sweet time up the stone stairs. I straightened my shoulders and shook my thick hair so it draped down my back. More than once I’d been told it looked like a fiery cape when shaken — and right then I needed fire. These people needed to know from the start that I was used to calling the shots. I kept my gaze forward, although from the corner of my eye I detected a curtain pulled back from a window on my right.

  Let them stare.

  The entry way opened to a small area with a high ceiling and wood floors buffed so highly that had I been wearing a skirt, I could have seen all the way up to my nose. Light rose wallpaper was plastered on each wall, dotted with pictures of nature scenes, mainly autumn woods with brilliant orange leaves falling in piles. There was a fake tree bigger than me in the far corner of the living room. Why they’d need a fake tree inside when there were acres of them outside was beyond me. A medium-sized Oriental rug lay like a sleeping dog beneath a square black coffee table.

  “The girls like to play board games,” Edie said, pointing to the table. “I’m sure they’d love to have you join them.”

  I bet they would.

  “Mr. Menins, we need you to sign a few admission forms, and then you’re free to go.” Steve directed my dad to a small office off the living room.

  Free to go — surely music to my dad’s ears.

  Edie lowered herself onto the loveseat and patted the empty tea-colored cushion next to her. I perched where she’d patted.

  “You have such lovely auburn hair, Farah.” She ran her hand through her own thin hair and chuckled. “I hope you’ll be happy here. You’ll meet the other girls in a bit. They’re giving you your space, so to speak. They’re real nice girls. Some of our rooms are singles, and some are doubles. You’re in a double. Your roommate is especially sweet. Her name is Lizbet, and she’s eager to meet you.”

  So Dad didn’t spring for a single. I nodded, being careful not to appear interested. No reason to get friendly, since I’d be leaving soon.

  Steve and my dad came back into the room. Dad walked over and stood in front of me. “I guess I’ll go now.” There was a catch in his voice.

  I glared at him. Was he putting on a show for the audience? I stood, and he drew close and pecked me on the cheek.

  “Don’t forget Farah has weekly guest privileges,” Edie said. “Perhaps we’ll see you next Saturday.”

  “Perhaps,” Dad answered.

  Translation: In your dreams.

  Dad threw me one last smile and left. As I watched him exit the house, a weird feeling of emptiness rose in my throat. My eyes burned, and I teared up.

  Had to be pregnancy hormones — I did not cry.

  “Come along, Farah, let me escort you to your room.” Edie grasped the handle on each suitcase and lifted. With a groan and a whoosh of breath, she dropped them with a thud. “Gracious! What do you have in there?”

  I hurried over to take them myself, but Steve cut me off. “You shouldn’t be lifting.” He hoisted the bags and lumbered off down the hallway to the right. I followed both of them, and my feet sank at least an inch in the cushy brown carpet that ran the length of the hallway. We passed three closed doors until we reached the last door on the right, which was ajar.

  Steve knocked with his elbow, then pushed his way in. “Lizbet, Farah’s here.”

  I entered the room, saw Lizbet, and plummeted back in time to the eighteen hundreds. She rose from the bed, her pale blue eyes as wide as two paper plates. Her hair was smudgy blond and hung to her waist, but the weird thing was how she’d poofed up the front part so it appeared like a rolling pin stuck to her
head. She wore a black skirt which showed the small pooch at her stomach and hung limply below her knees. Her blouse was a button-up-to-choke-the-neck style with ruffles down the front.

  What not to wear.

  “Hi, Farah,” she said, her voice soft.

  “Hey,” I said.

  There were two single beds in the room, separated by two ample nightstands in the middle. Each stand had a medium-sized shaded lamp. There was a large mirror on the wall between the lamps. I was a big fan of mirrors, but right then I wasn’t sure I wanted a constant view of my growing belly.

  Steve put the suitcases on the floor at the end of my bed. “Left side of the closet is yours,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “Lizbet, you can help Farah get acclimated. Remember, dears, dinner is at six.” Edie gave us a wide smile, ushered Steve out, and closed the door behind her with a flourish of her arm.

  I stared at the door. There was a sudden quiet. I walked over to my new bed, in my new room, with my new roommate, and sank onto it.

  “So, how is it here?” I asked Prairie Girl.

  Lizbet sat down on the bed across from me. “It’s okay.”

  “Why aren’t you at home with your family?”

  Her eyes grew wider still — if that were possible. I could tell my bluntness shocked her. I decided to let her off the hook. “Oh, don’t bother answering if you don’t want to.”

  I got up, went to the window, and pulled back the curtain. “It wasn’t you snooping on me earlier, was it? The angle’s wrong.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Man, her voice sounded wimpy. I dropped the curtain and returned to my bed. “I won’t be here long.”

  She gazed at my stomach. “You don’t look so far along. You don’t even look pregnant.”

  I dismissed her comment with my hand. “I’m two months, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Aren’t you staying till you have it?” She said it like a dirty word.

  “Won’t need to. My boyfriend’s coming for me.”

  Her mouth opened then closed. Confusion passed over her face. “How old are you?”

  “Sixteen. You?”

  “I’m fifteen. What do you mean your boyfriend’s coming?”

  I jumped off the bed again, walked over to my side of the closet, and pulled back the folding wooden door. There were half a dozen empty hangers dangling there and low open shelves running across the bottom. “Is this where I’m supposed to put all my clothes?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not much room, is there?”

  She shrugged.

  “Pete. He’s my boyfriend. He’ll be coming for me. I have it all planned out.”

  “So, you’re keeping it?” Shock covered her face.

  “Of course. Aren’t you?”

  She glanced down at her feet, which were inside the rattiest tennis shoes I’d seen in forever. Had she been out slopping the hogs or something?

  “I take it that’s a no.”

  Her lips were pressed together, making tiny wrinkles around her mouth.

  “You’re sure a chatty Cathy,” I said. “What happened? Did someone attack you in a dark alley or something?”

  She sucked in her breath.

  I stared at her and regret flashed through me. Now, I’d done it. “Oh.”

  Her eyes focused on her hands in her lap. She fidgeted with the fabric of her skirt.

  I walked over and sat next to her. “I have a big mouth.” I reached out and patted her back. Her muscles were tight and felt like parts of a cement statue. I grimaced and let my hand fall onto the spread.

  “Don’t be mad.” I fluttered my lashes and leaned around, trying to get her to look at me. People never stayed mad at me for long. My friend, Emili, who hates my guts, never could hold a grudge against me. Until recently.

  Lizbet faced me. “I’m not mad. Hatred is evil.”

  What was this? Was she some kind of religious nut or something?

  “Okay, hatred is evil.” I waited. She said nothing. “What happened?” I tried again.

  Still, silence.

  “Come on, we’re roomies. Besides, who am I going to blab your secret to around here?”

  She closed her eyes.

  “Someone hurt you,” I said.

  She blew out her breath, but didn’t speak.

  “If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it.”

  More silence, and then to my surprise, she spoke. “I was attacked, and he did it to me.”

  “Who?”

  “A man. He was out of his reasoning.”

  “His reasoning? What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing.” She turned away and gazed out the window.

  I stayed quiet for a minute. I studied her profile and noted the firm set of her chin. “What do you mean reasoning?” I asked again.

  She brought her gaze back to me. “My parents said we must forgive him. It’s over now.”

  “Okay, Lizbet. Bring me up to speed. You’re not making sense. Some guy attacked you, and now everything’s fine? Is he in jail?”

  Lizbet’s eyes grew moist. “I’m talking perfect sense. I’ve forgiven him. And he’s not in jail. I don’t know where he is.”

  “But he’s going to stand trial, right?”

  “We didn’t press charges. No one even knows.”

  I held up my hand. “Whoa. No one even knows?”

  She avoided my eyes, stood, and adjusted her skirt. “Dinner time is at six.” She walked out of the room and shut the door behind her.

  I looked around at the suddenly empty room. “I know what time dinner is,” I said to the wall.

  Pete, you better get your butt here and fast.

  ****

  The last hour before dinner, I ventured out once to find the bathroom. Since I’d started guzzling water all the time, I had to pee about every seven and a half minutes. Happily, the door right across from ours was the bathroom. There were two stalls in there, which was a good idea since everyone here probably peed as much as me.

  Sitting in the room all by myself, I felt like the dateless girl at the prom — which was not normal for me. I took my time unpacking, but even moving like a slug, I was finished in ten minutes. Lizbet had stuck a couple photos into her side of the mirror. I squinted at them. One was of her with a bunch of people — her family I guessed. Five kids. Whoa.

  The other was her and a guy. I thought maybe he was her boyfriend, until I noticed he was in the other photo, too. Must be her brother. I leaned closer to study him. He was quite a bit taller than her with the same blond hair. Only his was thick and wavy, and it swooped over his forehead in kind of a cute way. He had the same facial structure as Lizbet with fine narrow features. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes — he was too far away from the camera. The way he was standing, with his weight on one leg and each hand hanging by thumbs looped over his pockets reminded me of vintage posters advertising the movie Grease. I half-expected his T-shirt sleeve to be rolled up with a pack of cigarettes bulging from it. I chuckled. I’d bet no one in Lizbet’s family ever dared light a cigarette.

  Someone knocked at the door, and I jumped back from the photo like a kid caught digging in her mom’s make-up bag. I inspected my pale reflection in the mirror and shook my head. I didn’t spook easy, and I hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and a girl about my age poked her head into the room. She grinned at me with wide, florescent-pink lips. She sported a massive display of dark brown curls. “Hey there,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  She opened the door and came in — her stomach preceding her by a mile. “I’m Jasmyn.” She patted her belly. “Six months along.”

  “Farah,” I said, and patted my belly. “Two months.”

  “Woo, you’ve got ages to go. You don’t even show.” She pointed to her watch. “Time for dinner. Lizbet is already out there, so I figured you might want someone to accompany you. Ready?”

&nbs
p; I ran my hands over my hair and dabbed at the corners of my mouth with my little finger. “Guess so.”

  “Come on, then.” She led me out of my room and down the hall to the dining room which connected to the kitchen.

  A heavy, shiny wooden table with eight chairs sat under a light fixture, brimming with fake candles. There was a formal air in the room as if it was used for fancy dinner parties. The settings were already laid with fringed, beige cloth napkins, no less. At the end of the room was a buffet with at least fifteen drawers. Above it was a framed mirror. What was with all the mirrors in this place? Were they to give us a constant reminder of our own stupidity?

  Edie and Steve stood at the head of the table laughing. Lizbet bustled in from the adjoining kitchen with a steaming pot, her face tight and her lips pressed into a straight line. Was that her eternal expression? Edie’s eyes darted from Lizbet to me, and her brow creased.

  Jasmyn pulled me to a chair. “Here, sit by me. Deb is gone now, so the spot’s empty.”

  Another girl was already seated at the end of the table. I sized her up and was surprised to realize she wasn’t a teen at all — she had to be at least twenty-something. Yet there she was, stomach bulging across the room. Her hair was red like mine, only a few shades deeper. She surveyed everything with contentment on her face, as if assured all was well in her kingdom.

  She must’ve felt my stare because her eyes found mine, and she stared right back. Then a sparkling smile opened up. “You must be Farah,” she said with a lilting southern accent. “We all knew you’d be coming today.”

  Right then, I knew she was the one who’d pulled the curtain back to spy on me earlier.

  Chapter Two

  “Hi,” I said and sat.

  “My name is Rosaline. I’m five months along.” She tilted her head and gave me the once-over.

  Why would someone so old be here?

  “Has anyone seen Ariel?” Edie asked. She craned her neck to look toward the bedroom hallway.

  “She’s always late,” Jasmyn said. “Do we have to wait? I’m starving.”