Watermelon Days and Firefly Nights: Heartwarming Scenes from Small Town Life by Annette Smith Page B

mother’s shoulder, and whispered, “We were going to get married. I’m going to have a baby, Mama.”
    For a long, long time, no one said a word.
    Finally, Shonda reached for Millard. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Please don’t be mad. I know what we did was wrong. We wanted to get married, but we couldn’t figure out how. I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Really, I didn’t. I know you’re disappointed. But please, Daddy, please don’t be mad.”
    Millard didn’t respond.
    It is hard to speak when one has no wind.
    Sugar spoke instead. “Shonda, are you saying that the boy who was killed in the accident tonight was the one who . . .”
    “Yes.”
    “What was his name? Do his folks know about . . . about . . .” Sugar’s voice trailed off.
    “They don’t know.”
    Millard blew his nose. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard. “Shonda, you have hurt your mother. This is not what we expected of you, and it is not what we wanted for you. You knew better. Things around here will be different from now on. You—well, you have made your bed, young lady. Now you’ve got to lie in it.”
    Later that week, when Shonda and Sugar moved Shonda’s things out of the dorm and back into her old room, Millard did not offer to help. When Shonda made his favorite pie, placed it, hot out of the oven, in front of him, Millard offered no thanks. When the two of them met in the hall during late-night trips to the bathroom, Millard looked down and gave her wide berth.
    Millard spoke to Shonda only when necessary and never looked her in the eyes. Weeks went by. The bigger Shonda grew, the more Millard let on that he was repulsed by the sight of her.
    “Mama, why is Daddy acting like this? I can’t take back what’s happened,” Shonda grieved. “Is he never going to forgive me? And what about when the baby comes? Mama, there is going to be a little child in this house. He can’t ignore it.”
    Sugar, caught in the middle, tried to soften Millard up. “Shonda’s not going to finish the semester, Millard. She doesn’t think she’d be able to hold up.”
    “Suit herself.” He held the newspaper up in front of his face. Yet he wondered if Shonda was all right. She did look tired. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, because he heard her up walking almost every night.
    Sugar tried again another day. “Shonda’s resting. Her feet are swollen. Dr. Strickland says she needs to stay out of the heat.”
    “Fine by me.” Millard turned on sports. Swollen feet? Was that a serious sign? One of the waitresses at the Wild Flour Café had had something called toxemia a little while back. She nearly died. If he recalled right, it seemed like her trouble started out with swollen feet.
    “Shonda’s going to the doctor tomorrow. She thinks she’ll find out whether the baby’s going to be a boy or a girl. Don’t you want to come along? You wouldn’t have to go in. You could wait out front. It would mean so much to Shonda if you would.”
    “Sugar, I don’t want to hear about it. Do you understand? Shonda is mine and I take care of my own, but she made a choice. She knew how I felt. She threw away her morals. As long as I live, I will never accept any baby born like that as one of my kin.”
    Sugar pushed harder. “Millard Fry, this little one will be our first grandchild. It didn’t ask to be brought into this world. It’s a little baby, as innocent as innocent can be. It’s not going to have a daddy. Least you can do is be its granddaddy.”
    Millard laid down the newspaper and looked at the TV.

    S UGAR TRIED TO HIDE her concern, but with every passing day, she grew more and more worried. Her Millard was a good man. Better than most. If he could reject his own flesh and blood, she shuddered to think how other people would react to her first grandbaby. Even though unwed motherhood was no longer uncommon, certain tongues were already wagging at the fact that Shonda