The gun . . .
Conrad reached out. 'Eddie, we were worried--'
The gun exploded.
28
When the gun went off in the hot confines of the trailer's hall, Nadia fell to the floor in a limp heap. Eddie's snarl froze and then he just looked surprised. Conrad flinched from the pop, covered his head and yelled, 'Don't!'
When he opened his eyes she was bleeding from just below her equatorial center, maybe Tanzania on the globe of her belly. Eddie was staring at her like some fourth party had pulled the trigger, like he was the other victim.
'I-I-I'm sorry,' Eddie said.
'You little fuck,' Conrad said.
The kid's remorse evaporated as soon as Conrad stepped forward and reached for the gun. Eddie went ape shit, screaming into the bathroom. Conrad shoved very hard and the trigger-happy suitor fired another shot into the wall before tripping over the toilet and slamming against the half-open sliding shower door, which rattled at an astonishing volume but did not shatter. Eddie's gun hand slapped the wall, Eddie slipped and Conrad leaped on top, his senses on full alert. He punched down, missed. Aimed for the neck, punched down, missed. Sweat-greased and hyped through the roof, Eddie slid beneath Conrad, spun out and yanked the towel rack out of the wall as he rebounded up and dashed past Conrad, careening off the wall and directly into the door, closing them both into the bathroom. He fumbled at the knob, but already Conrad had a ball of Eddie's shirt in one fist. Conrad yanked Eddie back and turned to the side. Eddie pivoted wildly, lost his balance, whirled past like they were swing dancing. Eddie's feet tripped on the edge of the tub and he began to go face first between the sliding shower door and the backsplash, directly into the tub. Conrad was still holding his shirt like a bronc rider and for one long second Eddie hovered over the tub, bent forward, the horse halting before going over the edge of a cliff. Conrad realized he was losing his balance, too, and he did not want to land on top of Eddie in the tub with a gun between them. He jerked his arm back once, bringing Eddie nearly vertical again, then kicked him in the ass as hard as he could, releasing the shirt at the last minute. Eddie's spine arched with whiplash and his hands flew out on instinct, trying to brace his fall. His right hand - the one holding the gun - hit the soap cradle, bent inward at the wrist, and the gun bucked. The shot went high on the right side of Eddie's forehead and exited his ear, spraying maroon and gray sludge over the grout and the bottle of Pert Plus to his left.
Conrad flinched back over the sink and covered his face. His ankle twisted and his knees gave out. He sat there on the shag throw rug, staring at Eddie's twitching legs until they stopped. Another minute seemed to pass before he realized what had happened. He stood up. Eddie was face down, his neck askew. Something shiny and white dangled from his ear . . . and it was the rest of his ear. Conrad was only slightly relieved he did not have to look into the boy's eyes.
His first coherent thought was, Thank God it wasn't me.
His second was, It's his fault. I didn't shoot him.
And last but not least, It happened in the shower. Easier to clean up.
He was reaching for a towel when he remembered Nadia.
Jesus Shitting Christ she's pregnant and shot.
He turned away, closed the bathroom door, and crouched next to her in the hall. Nadia's foot pedaled the air and banged against the wall of the trailer a couple times, found purchase, and pushed her shoulders against the opposite wall until she was stuck and partially folded, her eyes rolling back and around, searching while her mouth puckered and emitted 'nnnya-nnnyaa-nnnyaa' sounds.
Conrad pulled her shoulders off the wall until she was lying flat on her back. It seemed important to get her straight. Her shirt was red from the waistline up to her breasts and sopping wet. His vision became foggy. Eyes watering up as if the wind were blowing invisible particles into them.
'I'm here, girl. Okay, we're going to be fine . . .'
He didn't know this would be fine. He ran back to the bathroom and - don't look! don't look at that problem in the shower, not yet, not now! - grabbed two yellow and white striped beach towels off the rack, spun to the sink. Was he supposed to wet one first? No - soak up the blood. The medicine cabinet was open and he saw a tin of Band Aids and some Preparation H.
He crouched and pressed a towel into her abdomen.
Nadia screamed and kicked.
'Hold still, hold still!' He sounded too loud, so he repeated it softer until she blinked and saw him, twisting against the pain, trying to get away. She beat her head against the floor and clenched her teeth, staring through him, and he knew she was angry on top of the pain. Was he to blame for this, after all? Probably, in some way.
Three gunshots. Someone must've heard. The police will be here soon.
He felt the towel dampening beneath his hand and lifted it to make sure he was pressing in the right spot. Her shirt was up, revealing white skin gone grainy and smeared. He couldn't see the wound's exact location yet. There was too much blood. He inspected her hips. Jesus Christ, where was it?
'Be still. Nadia, be still!' The blood was pooling in her belly button. 'Oh God . . .'
Nadia was whimpering. So much for the hope she was in shock. Shock would be a blessing. 'Burns, it burns,' she whimpered.
He put his finger to her navel and she screamed, jerking toward him. When she came up, his finger slipped under the flap of skin at the ring of her belly button until he was certain he was poking her in the guts.
Nadia howled and stretched herself taut as a piano wire. He snatched his hand away and fresh blood poured out.
'I know, I know! Stop moving!' Amazingly, she swung her hand around and clutched his forearm, her grip fierce. That was something, wasn't it?
'Easy, easy, I have to stop it.'
She gritted her teeth.
Conrad wadded the end of the second towel to a conical point and pushed it in. She opened her mouth to unleash another scream and nothing came out. Her circuits overloaded as her face went ash-gray and her breath locked up. She blinked through tears for a long silent spell. When it broke, the hot gust of her sour breath poured over him without a sound. Then she started panting, everything on autopilot.
Now she was in shock.
He had pushed the towel under the flap of skin. It went sideways, a tear in her outer fabric. He lifted the towel again and fresh blood flowed once more, but not before he saw that the core of her navel was intact. The bullet had not gone in. It had gone across shallowly, sideways through her belly flesh, entering at the navel and exiting three inches closer to her hip. It was possible that the curvature of her belly had prevented Eddie from getting a direct shot, and in doing so saved the child. Her skin under the blood was stained gray with either gunpowder or the first bruising. Underneath the ripped exit wound he saw yellow fatty tissue made pink with her blood.
No sirens. What are you waiting for, asshole?
The saner voice in his head screamed at him to call an ambulance and get the girl to a hospital. Yet he hesitated. This wasn't his fault, but there would be many questions. What made Eddie go off? What had you two been doing before this happened? How could you let this happen to our daughter? Our grandchild? Gail and John would rush home. Nadia would make the news. Jo would never return, or kill him when she did.
They would blame him. Tell the truth - you shot Eddie, didn't you? You wanted him out of the picture. Well, now he's out of the picture!
'Oh fuck, oh fuck . . .' Panic was setting in.
Wait. The phone. Eddie killed himself. His suicide note was on Nadia's phone!