Cindy's announcement that she was pregnant exploded like a bomb right in front of John, Marcie and Clara. Marcie looked at her daughter with a mix of stupefaction and disbelief.
"Pregnant? PREGNANT? Pregnant HOW?"
"Mom, don't start." Cindy looked away from her mother, somewhat startled by her mother's angered yelling.
"Who is he?" Marcie asked, grabbing her daughter's arm as though she wanted to shake the truth out of Cindy. "Who IS he?"
"You don't KNOW him!" Cindy yelled back, twisting her arm free from her mother's grip. "Okay?"
"No, it's not okay. I want to know his name."
"What for?" replied Cindy, blinking her eyes as if the living room had suddenly been filled with blinding sunshine.
"WHAT FOR?" Marcie repeated with outrage. "For the bastard that did this to take full responsibility, that's what's for."
"I'm not gonna marry him, Mom, if that's what you're thinking. And besides, I wanted it to happen."
"You wanted to get PREGNANT?!"
"Yes, I did." And for the first time Cindy dared look up at her father.
John remained silent, flabbergasted and terrified at the same time. He had wanted to intervene and prevent a clash between his wife and Cindy, but as usual Cindy did something stupid with no regard for the consequences — or his opinion for that matter.
"I wanted to have his baby," affirmed Cindy, casting a quick glance at her father, as though she wanted to see his reaction. "I WANT to have his baby."
"And you, John, why don't you say something?" asked Marcie, turning to her husband, her hands trembling with anger. "She's your daughter, too." Marcie's eyes looked around as if she was searching for something. Despite her involuntary shaking, Marcie was able to take out a cigarette from a pack lying on the corner table. She tried to light it up, but because of her nervousness she failed twice, which made her more irritable and frustrated. "JOHN, for God's sake, say something!"
John made an effort to speak, but all he did was to murmur something unintelligible. Eventually, he cleared his throat and uttered, "I give up."
"You give UP?" asked Marcie, releasing the cigarette smoke through her nostrils and then coughing it up. "You give up on your daughter, is that what you're saying?"
"No, I don't mean like that," said John, sighing and sinking into the couch. "It's obvious she's determined to have... I mean, this baby. Isn't that so, Cindy?"
"Yes. It's my own body. I decide what I want to do with it. I'm 19. You can't make me do anything I don't want. And if you do, I'll just leave."
"Maybe you'd better."
John looked at his wife and to his own shock it looked like she meant what she had just said, calling their daughter's bluff.
"Okay, everybody calm down." All faces turned to Clara, who had remained silent until then. "We're all adults here, so please let's not do anything stupid. Cindy's pregnant. She can't go anywhere. She needs medical care, and booting her out of the house won't help her, or us, at all."
John observed Clara, and the way she argued with Marcie. Clara was the brains of the family. That girl would go places, John mused, and her GPA of 4.5 and SAT score of 1490 proved it. Clara had been a shy, withdrawn little girl, who loved to spend hours reading and daydreaming in her own bedroom during her early childhood. Clara was a science geek, who dreamt about becoming an astronaut and traveling through space, visiting new worlds and civilizations. When his younger daughter turned 14 she bloomed into an attractive, outgoing, popular girl, who loved textbooks as much as being your next-door cheerleader. Clara's beauty was less blatant than Cindy's, because she did not flaunt it as her older sister did. Still, she was asked out by different boys quite often until she began to go steady with Brad Hawkins, a good kid Clara had met in a meeting for the neighborhood's Catholic youth.
Inadvertently John's eyes fell on Clara's plump breasts, encased in a white sports cotton bra and covered by a tight green spaghetti strap top with the blue, red and white logo of her cheerleading squad. As he realized his growing erection, John sat up straight on the couch, scanning the faces of the women of the house for any clues as to whether they could somehow guess his lustful thoughts.
John's eyes became transfixed with Clara's long dark blonde hair, which brushed up and down against his daughter's breasts. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his arm.
"John, damn it. We need you here and you're thinking about God's-know-what."
"I'm sorry, Marcie," said John, shaking his head to drive away the sudden lust for his younger daughter. "First my older daughter, now my younger daughter, too?" he thought, some panic hitting him in the face as he noticed his wife's glare. "I'm sorry, I was thinking..."
"Yes, we know that. But what I want to know is what you think about what Clara's just said."
"I'm sorry, honey..." John fidgeted on the couch and faced his younger daughter. "What did you say? I didn't hear it."
"I said we should support Cindy if she wants to have the baby, Dad. Mom's okay with it. So, my question is: are you okay with it too?"
"Are you okay with this, Marcie?" John asked, incredulous.
"Well..." Marcie began, lighting up another cigarette. "I'm her mother... I don't want her... to be out there... and... I think Clara is right. If Cindy wants to keep the baby, I'm okay... with that. I never believed in abortion, so... I think I'm okay with that."
"Then I think you shouldn't smoke near Cindy," said John, experiencing an odd sense of relief. "It's not good for the baby."
"Oh... I'm sorry, you're right." Marcie left, pulling the sliding door to the side and stepping outside to finish her smoke.
John faced his two daughters and then his erection grew to frightening proportions when he saw Clara hold Cindy tight and then kiss her older sister on the forehead. Self-conscious and confused, John stood on his feet and turned away from his daughters before they could see his hard-on. "What am I becoming?" he thought, genuinely preoccupied. "Now Cindy and Clara being gentle to each other turns me on, too?" Although John was keen on going for an evening walk in the woods bordering the backyard of his plush three-story home, he decided to avoid Marcie and go for drinking a good cup of coffee in his study, where he kept a fully automatic espresso machine.
He made himself a nice, steamy, frothy cappuccino, inhaling the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans, and in an involuntary movement touched his shrinking erection. He resisted masturbating, though, as the door was not locked. Instead, he went to the bay window and saw that Marcie was still smoking. She had resumed her smoking five years before and that filthy habit was ruining her good looks and her sex drive. John couldn't remember the last time they had sex... His sex life had been a joke until Cindy tore down the sexual barrier between father and daughter.
His train of thought returned to the day after their first close encounter... He had wanted to talk to Cindy about it, but his older daughter steered clear of him at all costs, as if she was ashamed and could not face up to what happened between them in living room. Cindy was as complicated as Marcie... Women! Nobody could understand them. Cindy and Marcie's moods could change in a bat of an eye. One day everything was fine and dandy, the next everything was dark and nasty. Clara was more like him — cerebral, thoughtful, sometimes withdrawn and unfriendly, but their moods were more constant and less prone to sudden swings.
Fortunately, his wife and Clara hadn't noticed the abrupt change in Cindy's behavior, John thought, finishing his cappuccino with a contented sigh. Cindy and he had never been close, so Cindy making the extra mile to dodge him was not that strange, but still... it was irritating. This state of affairs remained so until he came back early from work. He was about to take a shower when he heard a muffled whimper coming from Cindy's room.
"Cindy, is that you? Are you all right?" As he got no answer he insisted, knocking on her door. "Cindy, are you all right? Can I come in?"
"No, go away!" he heard her daughter say from the other side of her bedroom door.
"Cindy?"
"NO, I told you: GO THE FUCK AWAY!"
"That's not the way..." He entered his daughter's room, irked by his daughter's insolence and use of a forbidden four-letter word, but then he stopped in his tracks. Cindy was crying, her face covered with streams of tears mixed with eyeliner. "Cindy? What..."
Cindy immediately flinched away from him, retreating closer to the wooden headboard of her bed. "Don't you touch me! Don't you FUCKING touch me!"
"But... but... Cindy... I'm not going to touch you. It's you who..."
"Yes, yes, yes... You, men, are all the same. If I give you an inch you think you own me. But you DON'T. You FUCKING DON'T!"
"But... Cindy... Calm down..."
"You say I did... what I did to you... You make it sound like it's my fault, and you didn't want it. I'm YOUR DAUGHTER, for chrissakes, and you don't even care!"
"But... Cindy... that's not true. I care. I do."
Cindy's tearful fits returned and she cried with a low, agonizing whimper, her lower lip shaking, while she rested her head against the headboard, sending him scared, quick glances.
"I don't understand what's happening, Cindy, but if I hurt you in any way, I'm sorry. I really am. Oh fuck!" In despair, he wheeled away from his daughter's room and walked in his. Thank God, Marcie wasn't home. She was most probably swamped with work in the law firm where she worked as a legal assistant, and Clara was at Brad's for sure.
John heaved a heavy sigh, repressing some tears. He had hurt his little girl and he could not stand the thought of it. He should have been stricter with her, but he hated physical punishment. He had never hit his girls. It was a promise he had made to himself when he was just 17. His father had been a cruel tyrant; he was not going to follow his footsteps - not if he could help it.
Swallowing, John got rid of his tie and unbuttoned his immaculate white shirt's collar. He slumped down on his bed and put his big hands on his knees, his head low. He took a deep breath and tried to calm down and analyze his options. He was known to be a smart, articulate businessman, whose opinions were valued and respected by his peers and employees. He usually had a clear vision of what was good for him and his company. But with Cindy... everything became a blur.
"Dad?"
Surprised, John looked up. Cindy stood at the doorjamb of his room wearing a gray sweatshirt, which barely covered her white cotton panties. Her long legs and slender, trembling frame made her look so fragile. John wanted to cry and hit himself because he had hurt his beautiful daughter.
"Dad, don't cry..." Cindy came near John and kneeled in front of him. "Dad, I'm sorry. You didn't do anything... I didn't want." Her blue gray eyes seemed worried with him. She no longer cried. She seemed serious, studying his face, her palm touching her father's face.
"Are you sure?" he said, holding Cindy's hand to his face.
"Yes, I'm sure." But still Cindy was utterly sad. Some tears welled up in her eyes once again. "Dad... it was not you... I'm not crying because of you."
"You're not?"
