Chapter 12

Frankie’s usually spent Saturday morning with Faith at their favorite coffee shop, “Tasteful Beans,” but since she was grounded for the next week and a half, she was forced to find an alternate form of entertainment. Frankie curled on the sofa under her favorite “Tulsa University” afghan, a birthday gift from her mom, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table and sent Faith a text before starting a Harry Potter movie marathon.

Frankie: Hey, I was thinking…

Faith: Uh oh, that’s never good. =)

Frankie: Very Funny. Seriously though, Mom said she didn’t tell Mr. Winters that he is my dad… right?

Faith: Yeah…

Frankie: I don’t understand why. I mean, if she finally “found him,” or rather he stumbled into her, why tell me and not him? It makes no sense. And what were they talking about at the coffee shop in Chandler?

Frankie sipped her hot cocoa while waiting for her friend to come up with an explanation. Frankie had wracked her brain, trying to come up with a reason until her head pounded. Her phone dinged in her hand.

Faith: Well, what if she’s afraid to tell him? It’s been seventeen years, so why tell him now? Did you ask her why they were there together?

Frankie: No, I guess I didn't want to know. But, again, the question remains...why not tell him now?

Faith: What good would it do? He won’t have any rights when you turn eighteen in August anyway. So why tell him?

Frankie: So why tell me?

Faith: Ugghhh! Which came first, the chicken or the egg? There are no answers.

Frankie: This leads me to the “I was thinking…” part. What if he isn’t my father? That is the only thing I can think of that would lead Mom not to tell him.

Faith: So why tell you if it isn’t the truth?

Frankie: That is the part I haven’t figured out yet. But don’t you worry, I will keep working on it.

Faith responded with a string of emojis: a chicken, an egg, and another chicken. Frankie shook her head and tossed her phone to the side. She picked a piece of lint from her blanket and then screamed.

“Oh my gosh!” She threw the blanket off like it was crawling with ants. “Ew, ew, ew!’ she frantically brushed invisible germs from her lap. “Mom!” she bellowed down the hall, “Mom!”

Rachel staggered from her bedroom, a silk eyemask pulled up on her head, holding the bangs out of her eyes, and tied a bathrobe at her waist. She had grown accustomed to Frankie’s outbursts. “What is it, Kiddo?” she asked with one eye open.

“It’s this, this… blanket!” Frankie spat the words like they were venom in her mouth. “It’s because of him, isn’t it? Tulsa University. That’s where you met him and…did the deed!” she shivered from head to two at the thought of her mother having sex at a frat party. Yuck!

“You woke me up, screaming like a banshee, on my one day to sleep in to ask me about a blanket?” Rachel was clearly not happy.

“Well, I’m sorry! But don’t you think it’s sick you gave me that blanket for my birthday with the reasoning behind it?” she shuddered at the thought again. “That’s gross, Mom!”

Rachel pulled the sleep mask off her head and tossed it to the side table, “Let me get some coffee, then we will talk, Okay?” she yawned as she ran her hand over her face, clearing away the sleep.

Frankie sat in the recliner, with her feet tucked safely under her rear, across the room from the sofa and the blanket. An observer could have assumed the blanket was contaminated with the COVID-19 virus, considering how Frankie had sidestepped the fabric lying on the floor.

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Within minutes Rachel returned to the living room, coffee in hand, and sat on the sofa. She picked the afghan off the floor and laid it beside her, “Now, what is all this about?” she took a long sip of the hot liquid.

“I thought you gave me that blanket because my middle name is Tulsa.” She slung at her mother with venom.

“I did.”

“I always thought it was because you had a strange affinity for that town,” Frankie’s voice began rising. She attempted to control her anger but failed miserably. “Which, by the way, I never understood.”

“I do.” Rachel was doing the calm thing so much better than Frankie.

“But only because that is where you did it with that sperm donor!”

“Frankie, don’t be so crass,” Rachel spoke firmly without matching Frankie’s pitch. “I had that afghan tucked away in my hope chest for years. I bought it when I found out I was pregnant before I left Dallas. It’s silly, I know, but I was young. I had no way of finding your father, so it was my only connection to him.” she had a far-off look in her eyes as she spoke, remembering the past.

“But why did you give it to me when I turned sixteen?” Frankie had regained a semblance of composure, but the scales could tip any moment.

“I gave it to you intending to tell you the whole story,” she sighed. “You were always drawing pictures and writing stories about who your father was, and I thought you were ready to know the truth.”

“But you didn’t tell me.” Frankie accused.

“No, I didn’t, and I am so sorry,” a tear slipped down Rachel’s face. “You might have been ready to hear the truth at the time. I just wasn’t strong enough to tell it.”

“Well, that’s just great, Mom!” Frankie’s ire was up again. “I am glad this was about your convenience and comfort instead of mine! You probably don’t even know if Mr. Winters is the man you slept with! It seems to me that anybody could be my father! Maybe he just looks like the guy you remember,” Frankie was pacing the floor, and anger flooded her soul once again. “Do you have any proof that he is the one? Is that why you didn’t tell him? Or are you too ashamed of me too?”

“I don’t need proof, Frankie. He is your father,” Rachel stated solemnly. “And, of course, I am not ashamed of you! You are my world, Sweetheart. I didn’t tell him because….”

“Because…?”

“Because I figured if you want him to know, we will tell him,” she reasoned with a shaky voice. “If you don’t, then we won’t. We haven’t had much discussion about that.”

Frankie ran to her room and slammed the door as hard as she could. “How could you do this to me? I hope you rot in hades for lying to me!”

Rachel winced as the words registered in her heart. Frankie’s sobs echoed down the hall. She placed her head in her hands, rocking on the sofa, and matched her daughter’s tears.

Frankie refused to come out of her room for the rest of the day. She spent most of her self-imposed prison sentence binging on NETFLIX specials and texting Faith and Steve. They, however, were free to go about their lives without much time to spare talking to an inmate. Several times her mom knocked on her door to ensure she was okay. Frankie kept her door locked and yelled for her to go away.

She was starving when the sun disappeared behind the trees outside her window. The only food she had stashed in her purse was a pack of peanut butter M&Ms. They didn’t last past noon. Frankie’s stubborn streak was at war with her hunger pains and bladder. She really had to pee! Bullheadedness was winning the battle of hunger, but her bladder was about to wave the white flag. She had snuck to the bathroom earlier in the afternoon when her mom went to check the mail, but that was hours ago. Her mom was staying up exceptionally late tonight, or so it seemed to Frankie. She wasn’t sure her bladder could hold out much longer.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” her mom called outside her door. “I love you.”

Frankie pressed her ear to the door and listened as her mom padded her slippered feet toward her room. Once she heard the soft click of her mom’s door closing, she bolted across the hall to the bathroom. “Oh, thank God!” she whispered emphatically as she squatted on the toilet. It had been the longest day of her life.

☙☙☙

“Get up, Kiddo,” her mom knocked loudly on Frankie’s door, startling her awake. “Get ready for church.”

“I’m not going to church!” Frankie yelled from beneath her covers. “I can’t believe you are going to church. Isn’t that a little hypocritical after what you have done?” she regretted the words as soon as they escaped her mouth, but honestly, that is how she felt.

Without warning, her door flew open. Rachel stood there, key in hand, glaring at her daughter. “You listen to me, young lady, and you listen good! I have taken all the crap from you that I am going to take. I let you mope in here all day yesterday and have your little temper tantrum, but today it stops. Do you hear me?” she stood towering over Frankie, her hands anchored on her hips. “And, as far as hypocritical, who are you to be my judge? I am your mother! And the last time I checked, the only one to walk on water was Jesus, and YOU AREN’T HIM! Now, get up and get dressed for church before I really lose my temper.” she stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

Frankie threw the covers off and jumped out of bed. If that wasn’t her mom losing her temper, she didn’t want to see what the real thing would look like.