Failing to Hold On

The small victory rung hollow, though. Their love-making had been mechanical, two people just going through the motions.

Ford had the DNA results sent to his email, not trusting Chelsea to leave their mail alone. It took all of Ford's remaining strength and courage to open the attachment.

"Whew!" he said; all three children were his.

"Aw, you bitch, you unbelievable bitch," Ford said out loud when he returned home.

His set of luggage had been pulled out of the hall closet; Chelsea had left his set of golf clubs in the hallway. She would have had to move the clubs to get to the suitcases.

He punched the number one on the keypad of his phone. A moment later, the call went straight to Chelsea's voice mail. Ford did not leave a message, just looked at his golf clubs.

Ford shook his head sadly and went to the garage. Chelsea's car was in the garage. He looked at the Honda Accord sadly for a long moment.

That car had been another argument between Ford and Chelsea. They'd almost split up over it. Chelsea smugly told Ford to go ahead and leave her; she'd get their children and a good chunk of his money in the ensuing legal battle.

Bobby Farnsworth recommended Ford go see Jimmy Valpo, his brother in law. Jimmy verified what Chelsea said; most courts would award sole physical custody to the mother, unless Ford could prove that Chelsea Adams was an unfit mother.

"And even then? Since y'all ain't legally married? Courts be real hesitant give over custody them two kids," Jimmy had said. "And here in Lowen County? Got us two women judges always, always, always side with the momma."

Jimmy pointed out that since buying a car they couldn't afford was not proof of unfit parentage, and Chelsea being pregnant with their third child, Ford would be on the dole for at least two hundred, probably two fifty per child.

"But wouldn't have pay the car note," Jimmy concluded. "Would have that going for you, huh?"

Ford looked at the car again. Then he spit on the car and closed the garage door.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit a number he'd entered into his phone's memory five days earlier. It rang three times.

"Yes?" an unfriendly voice answered.

"Hi Mattie, hey listen, tried Steve's phone, went straight to voice mail, was hoping you could get a message to my wife," Ford said cheerfully.

"Get a message, who is this?" Mattie asked.

"Hmm? Oh! I'm sorry, this is Ford, Ford Udell. I call her my wife, but no, Chelsea is actually my girlfriend," Ford said cheerfully.

"Who?" Mattie asked, voice rising in volume and pitch.

"Yeah, she and Steve are heading down to New Orleans, Mardi Gras, you know? Anyway, was hoping you could just pass along the message for Chelsea, 'don't come home.' Okay? Thanks," Ford said and ended the call.

Instead of going down to Armada, Ford simply made himself a microwaved potato, loaded it with imitation bacon bits and cheese and sour cream. After sticking his dish into the dishwasher, Ford went into his bedroom.

The room was a disaster. Clothes strewn around, hangers on the bed, cosmetics scattered around.

"Hello?" he asked, answering his phone.

"Hey Ford, coming get these little rascals?" Loretta asked cheerfully.

"Yeah, yeah, be there in a few; you fed them yet?" Ford asked.

"Yeah, hot dogs and mac and cheese," Loretta said.

On the way to Loretta's trailer, Ford swung by a gas station and bought forty dollars' worth of U-Haul boxes. As he loaded the three children into his truck, Loretta agreed that she'd watch them the following day.

After bathing his three children and putting them to bed, Ford packed every item of Chelsea's. The trophies she'd won in her beauty contests, the awards, even the tiara, he carefully packed, resisting the urge to break each item.

His last act was carried out as the children slept. He packed their toys, their clothing, making sure to leave a few clean clothes out for tomorrow.

Then he sat on the edge of his bed and cried.

In the morning, Ford woke up, fed his three children a good breakfast of oatmeal with chunks of apples cut up into it. He stirred in a tablespoon of brown sugar and a half teaspoon of cinnamon.

"Okay, who wants coffee?" Ford cheerfully asked.

"Daddy!" Randy giggled.

"No coffee! Keeps you up," Nicole intoned.

"Carrie? Cup of coffee?" Ford asked, which made Randy and Nicole giggle.

Then, while the electronic babysitter kept them occupied, Ford loaded the boxes into the truck. He hugged each child, then kissed them and brought them to the truck.

"Daddy, why you crying?" Randy asked as Ford drove them to Loretta's trailer.

"Hey, hey, moving in?" Loretta asked, seeing the numerous boxes.

"Nope. Chelsea is," Ford said.

"I didn't think you'd put up with her going down there. I told her and told her, no damned Mardi Gras parade's worth this," Loretta snapped. "Well, all right then; let me give you a hand."

"No, no, no applause necessary," Ford joked. "But could use a little help with the boxes."

"Smart ass," Loretta smiled.

Pops and Bobby weren't surprised when Ford told them he was resigning. Pops just shrugged and looked at Bobby.

"Well, makes my decision a lot easier," Pops finally said. "Fixing retire sooner or later; guess now's just a good a time as any."

"Guy down in Texas said would buy rest of my fleet; hey, Ford, ought give him a call. Edgar Carroll. Super nice guy, and oh my God! Ought see little honey he's got riding with him, I tell you," Bobby suggested.

Ford did contact Edgar Carroll. When Ed heard whom Ford had worked for, he agreed to have Ford in for a job interview for Monday.

Ford spent the rest of the day cleaning the home. By nightfall, he had dusted, vacuumed, mopped and scrubbed nearly every square inch of the small home.

Myra Silverstein, the landlord came and walked through with Ford. She took several pictures with her digital camera as they went, room by room.

"Hate lose you. Other than that Chelsea, you were a good tenant," Myra admitted. Hell, slap a coat of paint on, get them carpets cleaned, should be able rent this out no problem."

"We'll be out of here tomorrow," Ford promised.

"No rush; you're paid up through end of February," Myra said.

After the landlord left, Ford again cried for the loss of his job, the loss of his family. Then he cleaned himself up and went to the Armada for one last cholesterol laden meal among friends.

"Here he is," Birdie called out cheerfully. "Hi Mr. Pontiac."

"Batty, how the hell are you? Going miss you, you hear?" Ford said cheerfully.

"You going miss, why? Where you going?" the dancer asked, clutching onto his hand, wedging her chubby body against him.

"Going down to Tex-ass," Ford said. "Don't tell anyone, but Farnsworth has had it.

"Didn't hear you say nothing about Miss Plastic," Birdie asked, looking up at his face.

"Barbie, how many times..." Ford smiled.

"Birdie, damn it, it's Birdie, how many times I got tell you that, Mr. BMW?" Birdie smiled.

"Any. Way. Like I said, Bunny, I've told you, Chelsea's never had any plastic surgery," Ford said.

"I know, but makes a fat little bitch like me feel better thinking some of her is fake," Birdie said as Ralph ambled over to greet Ford.

"In that case, Birdie, ALL of her is fake," Ford said, smiling.

"Thanks, Ford, aw, damn it! I mean, 'thanks, Mr. Volvo,'" Birdie said, kissing his cheek.

Birdie went on to the small stage, heavy metal music blaring. Ralph fixed Ford a burger. Bingo and Woody argued over whether or not the Myndee Blue Jays baseball team would go to the series.

"Lady Jays will, mark my words," Ford interjected.

"Well, duu-uu-uh! God, some them girls got bigger dicks than them boys," Woody said, shaking his head.

"Hey now, that Mitzi? Girl plays shortstop? Man! Now she's a cutie," Bingo said.

"Here you go, Sport. That one's on the house, hear?" Ralph said, putting the plate in front of Ford. "Buddy? You been a real good customer, ain't never given none my girls any trouble, hate to see you go, hear?"

"Need talk with you before you go, Birdie said as Ford finished his second beer.

"Then talk. I'm fixing leave soon as I finish this, damn, I am finished this beer," Ford said.

"I want go with you," Birdie said. "I, listen, I, this, I ain't never been out of Lowenburg and longer I stay here? Harder it's going be leave on out of here."

"What? Birdie, you what?" Ford said.

"Please. Ford, I, I'm serious," Birdie begged.

"Well? What's it going be?" Ralph asked, wad of bills in hand.

"Leaving out of here no later than seven," Ford said. "Yes, seven in the morning."

"You still at Silverstein's, right?" Birdie asked, gripping Ford's hand.

"Uh, yeah, how'd you..." Ford said.

"Uh duh! My grandmother?" Birdie said.

"Here you go; get your stuff and get out, huh?" Ralph said, handing Birdie the wad of cash. "Worst God damned dancer ever seen."

"Uh huh," Birdie giggled. "Love you too."

"Here you go, sweetie, hate seeing you go. Least you got a personality, huh?" Bingo said, working a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet.

"Wait a minute; thought you and me was going have ten kids," Woody said, also giving Birdie some folding money.

"Thought you had your whang snipped?" Bingo asked.

"Shh! She don't need know that," Woody said.

"Practicing's half the fun anyhow, huh?" Ford agreed.

"Half? HALF? Buddy, it's only half the fun, then you ain't doing something right," Bingo said.

"Uh yeah Pearl? Come on in couple hours?" Ralph was asking into his telephone when Birdie and Ford left the Armada.

"Seven, in the A of M. You ain't there, I'm leaving, hear?" Ford said as Birdie walked ahead of him.

"Uh huh," Birdie agreed.

Birdie turned and looked at the bar. She gave a sad smile then walked to Ford's truck.

"I live over on Morning Drive," she said. "Give me your phone."

She punched in a number and a moment later, her purse gave off a musical blast. She then handed Ford's phone to him.

"When you fixing leave, call me and I'll meet you corner of Morning and four sixty seven," she said.

Ford smiled sadly and nodded. He then negotiated the seven blocks from Armada to trailer park.

"We taking the kids?" Birdie asked, pointing to her trailer.

"Uh, no, since we ain't never married, Chelsea's considered the primary parent. Least that's how the courts look at it," Ford said heavily.

"What? You sure about that? Who told you that? Miss Plastic?" Birdie asked.

"My lawyer," Ford said.

"Lawyer's a dumb ass," Birdie said, sliding out of the truck.

Ford waited until Birdie was in her trailer before driving away. He then returned home, found the spare key for the Honda and drove it to Loretta's trailer.

"Hey, just got them down," Loretta said quietly when she answered the door.

"Here's key for her car, all furniture's in the E-Z Storage over on Lawrence Lane," Ford said. "Paid up 'til end of May, okay? Get this; they only rent a quarter at a time, no matter what."

Ford did take one last look at his children. He hugged Loretta tightly for a long moment, then abruptly left the trailer.

It was a long walk from Loretta's trailer to the rental home. The dark walk was made all the harder by the sting of tears in Ford's eyes.

In the morning, the digital alarm clock was the last thing Ford put into his last box before taping it shut. He again made sure that all perishable food items were tossed out, and garbage can brought down to the curb, even though the trash would not be picked up until Monday.

"I'm up, I'm up," Birdie said when Ford called her.

"Good thing," Ford said.

The nineteen year old woman stood at the curb of the road, wearing a hooded sweatshirt. Her plump thighs stuck out the bottom and it looked as if she wore nothing underneath the garment. Her long brown hair was done into a ponytail and her small feet were encased in a pair of canvas high top sneakers.

The girl had two black plastic garbage bags on the ground next to her when Ford pulled off Highway 467 onto the shoulder of the highway. Her pale face morphed into a smile when she recognized Ford's Ford pickup truck.

Ford got out of the truck and bent to grab the two bags.

"Hi!" Birdie said brightly.

She then kissed Ford, directly onto his surprised lips. With a lot of wiggle in her walk, Birdie sauntered to the passenger door of his truck.

Ford dropped the two surprisingly light bags into the bed of his truck and arranged his boxes around the bags, to anchor them. When he reached the passenger door, Birdie actually rubbed her buttocks against him.

"I uh, look, I ain't expecting..." Ford said as he pulled the truck onto Highway 467

"Oh, I ain't expecting you going fall in love with me neither," Birdie said, almost sadly. "Huh? Like I could ever compete with Miss Plastic?"

"Birdie, that's not what I meant," Ford said.

"But couple ground rules, okay? I swallow, but not because I'm some kind of slut. It's just a lot less messy that way. And you going fuck my pussy or my ass? Got use condoms. For whatever reason? My body don't like the pill, all right? "Birdie said.

She actually reached over the console and patted Ford's crotch. Ford grunted in surprise.

"And from what I've seen? Might have wear two of them; getting Miss Plastic all knocked up three times in a row?" Birdie teased.

"You 'bout done there?" Ford asked

"Uh huh," Birdie said as he turned the truck west.

"Okay, my ground rules are simple. Number one, I ain't expecting sex. Not blow jobs, not fucking, not doing it up the ass," Ford said.

"What? Then, what I'm doing here?" Birdie asked, genuinely shocked.

"You asked come with me," Ford reminded her.

"You," Birdie reminded him. "I asked go with you. You seen me ask go with Jazz when he left? Or, damn, what was that boy, Alex? I ask go with them when they left on for what was that? Benhurst? Up in Colorado there?"

"Good thing you didn't," Ford chuckled. "Them two boys was queer for each other."

"They was not! They was? For real?" Birdie gasped.

After two hours of driving, Ford pulled into a Mr. Newhart's and bought them each a Big Biscuit with sausage, add grilled onions and green peppers. He almost added an order of pigs in a blanket for Randy and Nicole. He felt the sting of tears as he paused.

"Coffee?" Ford asked Birdie.

"Uh huh, she agreed. Ooh, I can have me a juice?"

"Give me a large orange-pineapple. Two large coffees, just cream in one, Bratty?" Ford said into the speaker.

"Two creams, three sugars, Mr. Nissan," Birdie smirked.

He refused any money from Birdie and smiled at the girl that took their money. The girl's mouth was filled with bulky orthodontic braces.

"Man! Birdie chuckled as they drove away, bag on the console between them. "Remember when I had mine. Hated them like wouldn't believe."

"Smile?" Ford said and Birdie gave him a big smile.

"Might have hated them, but they were worth it," Ford said, parking underneath a canopy of pine trees.

"Aw!" Birdie said, affectionately rubbing Ford's arm.

They ate quietly. Ford sniffed the cup of coffee, determined which was the cup with no sugar, and of course guessed wrong.

"What?" Birdie laughed. "Hot as it is? Kill any germs you going have."

"Damn it; they both got sugar in them," Ford said, sipping the second cup of coffee.

"Want me go bust metal mouth's ass?" Birdie said.

"Sit there and look pretty, yeah, like that, Betty," Ford said. "I'll live, okay?"

"Betty, huh? Whatever, Mr. Yugo," Birdie smirked.

"Yugo? YUGO? Now, that's pretty bad," Ford smiled.

At one thirty, Ford roused Birdie. He pulled off the highway and pulled up to a Waffle House. Birdie stretched and yawned, then wiggled out of her bulky sweatshirt, revealing the short tee shirt and cut off shorts she'd worn underneath.

"Thank God; 'bout pee on myself," Birdie groaned as she popped open her door.

"That'd be fine," Ford agreed. "Problem is? Pee on yourself in my truck? Going get all over my seats."

Again, Ford admired Birdie's chubby ass cheeks as she scampered from truck to restaurant. The waitress pointed and Birdie hit the restroom door almost at a run. Ford chuckled and took a seat where he could keep his eye on the truck.

"Daughter looked pretty desperate there," the waitress chuckled. "How y'all doing?"

"Doing good. You?" Ford agreed. "Coffee, please.

"Man!" Birdie said, coming out of the bathroom, wiping her hands on her shirt.

"Here, sit here, keep your eye on the truck," Ford ordered as he got to his feet. "Ain't only one had a coffee, remember?"

When Ford returned, they both ordered the All-Star breakfast. Birdie ordered raisin toast with hers; Ford ordered whole wheat toast.

"Man! Get raisin, or even white, huh?" Birdie pouted. "I hate whole wheat!"

"That's fine; it's my toast," Ford reminded her.

The dashboard clock told Ford it was nearly five thirty when he pulled up to the Home Comfort Inn in Oakleaf, Texas. Nearly all of him hurt from the hours upon hours of driving.

"Birdie, stay with the truck; I'll get us a room. Then we'll figure out what to do with your stuff," Ford groaned, parking at the end of the parking lot.

Ford walked into the lobby and smiled tiredly when the woman greeted him. He ordered a room with two double beds, then grabbed a luggage rack. Birdie helped him load up the luggage rack, helped him push their possessions to Room 119.

Everything was stacked against the far wall, then Ford returned the luggage rack to the lobby. The clerk nodded her thanks and Ford nodded in reply.

"There's a truck stop right across the street; hungry?" Ford asked as he entered their room.

"Yeah," Birdie groaned, pulling herself into an upright position on the bed.

Birdie again put a little wiggle into her walk as she and Ford walked the hallway of the hotel. But, once out of the building, Birdie clutched onto Ford's hand.

Birdie's attire of short tee shirt and cut off shorts did attract attention from a few of the truckers. They selected a booth along the wall and looked over the day's specials that had been scrawled onto a chalkboard. The waitress approached with two menus but Ford and Birdie decided on the pot roast special of the day.

"Be right back, got to potty," Birdie said and Ford watched her cute buttocks undulate away.

The waitress had just placed the diet cola that Birdie had ordered and the iced water for Ford when Ford heard, "No, I ain't here by myself; husband's right there."

Ford looked up and a smiling Birdie walked to the table, hips wiggling and swaying. She bent and gave him a kiss on his lips before sitting and sipping her diet cola.

"Husband, huh? When I become your husband?" Ford asked, nodding at the trucker that had attempted to entice Birdie out of the truck stop to his tractor.

"Minute brung me 'cross state lines," Birdie said calmly.

The waitress placed two platters in front of them, eyeballed their drinks, and returned to the counter. Birdie ripped a chunk of the meat off with her fork, then looked up at Ford.

She was a cute girl, standing only five feet in her tennis shoes. Her long brown hair reached to the back of her knees, framing her round face. Her large blue eyes stared out from underneath a heavy eyebrow that extended over both eyes. Her lashes were quite long, adding to the depth of her blue eyes.

Birdie's nose was a button above her cupid bow lips. Her cheeks had light acne scarring, which actually added to her attractiveness.

Birdie was twenty to thirty pounds overweight, the weight was mostly in her arms and legs, and in her buttocks.

Ford looked at the small heart charm that dangled from just underneath the hem of her short tee shirt. Her belly had only a slight softness to it. He could just make out her areolae underneath the light colored tee shirt.