Fool Me Twice

It was a beautiful fall afternoon as my daughter's high school soccer team held a 5-2 lead over her school's arch-rival, Frost, late in the second half. Karrie, the youngest of my three children, had scored a pair of goals and looked like she might get a hat trick as she dribbled downfield with just one defender and the goalie to beat. Her mother and I were starting to scream encouragement at a high volume as she bore down on the Frost goal.

Karrie's long blonde ponytail bobbed as she ran, then she gave a head feint to the right and quickly cut back slightly to her left, crossing the ball to her left foot as she did so. It looked like all the money her mother and I had spent on soccer camps was about to pay off again when the Frost defender, having been beaten badly, took a desperation slide at my daughter, knocking her roughly off her feet. She spun in mid-air, then bounced on the ground once, twice, before rolling to a stop. The referee immediately signaled a penalty, which brought both coaches to their feet.

I was already on my feet in the bleachers, watching as Karrie grabbed her right leg and screamed out in pain. When the ref stopped play, I was on the field, rushing to my little girl, who continued to scream in pain. I hugged her to me as the team trainer reached her and ran her hand down my little girl's leg. When Karrie shrieked, the trainer ripped her cell phone out of her pocket and called for an ambulance. I rocked her while she cried. My wife, Traci, joined the small group on the field.

Not quite five minutes later, the ambulance drove onto the field, right up to the small group of adults surrounding the child. Karrie was loaded into the vehicle, and I followed her inside, telling my wife to meet us at the hospital.

They took Karrie right into X-ray when they got her to the hospital. Her right fibula was broken. Orthopedic surgeons were going to have perform surgery to align the bones -- they called it an open reduction. Karrie cried, realizing her season was over. I tried my best to soothe her, but she wasn't having any of that.

While they were waiting for an orthopedic guy to arrive, a nurse was looking at the collection of bruises Karrie had accumulated on her legs so far this season. It's not an uncommon occurrence for soccer players to have bruises, especially on their legs. Soccer as a sport is a lot rougher than most people realize. Then that same nurse started looking at the many bruises Karrie also had on her arms. She asked Karrie several questions about the bruises, then walked over to another nurse and whispered something to her. As I was still trying to soothe a very upset 12-year-old, I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to the whispering at the time.

A minute later, one of the two whispering nurses came over to me and quietly asked me if I had noticed if Karrie had lost any weight. Actually, I had noticed that she was down a little, but I assumed that was because of all the running soccer players do in games and practices. She nodded and went back to the other nurse, whispering some more.

Just then the orthopedic doctor arrived, looked at the X-rays and started issuing orders. They took Karrie to an operating room as Traci and I went to a waiting room.

Karrie was still groggy when Traci and I were allowed into recovery to be with her. We sat with her for another two hours, then left to go home for the night. The doctor had said the operation went well, and we could take our daughter home in a couple of days.

I went to work at my accounting job the next day while Traci stayed home and went straight to the hospital to stay with Karrie. About an hour into my workday, Traci called me and said the doctor wanted to talk to both of us. I was perplexed. I thought the ortho doc said the surgery was a success. Maybe he wanted to talk to us about rehab.

I kissed both Traci and Karrie when I got to my daughter's room, and a minute later, a Dr. Ben Rauh walked in. I was confused because her ortho was a doctor named James Rincon. He asked Traci and I to go with him into a small conference room.

"What's going on, Doc?" I asked first thing.

He put his eyes down and took a deep breath before raising his eyes and facing us. I knew then that this wasn't going to be good.

"We need to run some tests because we're afraid Karrie may have leukemia," he said quietly.

Traci immediately started to cry while I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe. This was probably the worst news I had gotten since my parents told me my maternal grandfather died when I was 12.

Dr. Rauh, Traci and I went into Karrie's room together to tell her that the doctors needed to run some additional tests. We didn't give Karrie a specific reason, hoping against hope that we wouldn't ever have to tell her the truth.

We didn't tell either of Karrie's older siblings about what the doctor suspected, although we did tell both that she was undergoing some additional testing. Her older brother, Arnie, 19, was a sophomore at Michigan State, so we told him about the leg break and the additional testing by phone. He asked if he should take a few days and come home, but we were optimistic and told him that wasn't necessary. It was different with Karrie's older sister, Ellie, 17, a high school junior. She could see the worry in our faces and wasn't buying the optimistic front we were putting on.

As the baby in the family, Karrie -- Karen, officially -- was probably the most coddled child, but even her siblings coddled her. Ellie often let her tag along with her and her friends when they did stuff, and Arnie was not only her official protector, but he spent hours teaching her how to play sports "like a guy." Karrie never threw a ball or even ran "like a girl," and when it came to basketball, football or street hockey, she was a rough as any boy. Arnie was incredibly proud of his baby sister.

Two days later, the bad news was confirmed. Traci, Ellie and I held the most important family meeting we ever had in the living room before deciding that we needed to tell Karrie the truth as soon as possible. We called Arnie and got his thoughts, as well, and he agreed with our decision. I hadn't heard Arnie cry like that since he was 10 and took a baseball to the mid-back that left a raised welt. He took a few seconds, then apologized to me, for both crying and not being there to help tell his sister.

I felt like part of a firing squad as the three of us and the doctor marched into Karrie's room the next morning. Dr. Rauh had volunteered to do the dirty deed, but the family discussed it and decided one of us should give her the bad news. It fell to me to do the most difficult thing I've ever done in my life. Traci and Ellie sat there in tears, and I think Dr. Rauh was pretty choked up, too, but Karrie took the news like a champ, occasionally asking a question which Dr. Rauh quietly answered.

"That's it, then. I got this, Dad!"

Oh, to have the enthusiasm and chutzpah of a 14-year-old.

Nine months later, things were not looking much better for Karrie. For the first time, Dr. Rauh mentioned bone marrow transplant. We had been reading up on the subject, and were well aware that siblings had a one in four chance of being a tissue match. Arnie and Ellie got tested immediately, but neither was a match. That meant we had to hope on the small chance that there would be a match on the national bone marrow registry, unless...

I had secretly been keeping track of Rick Gardino for the past 14-plus years, since the day I kicked the shit out of him in the back parking lot of First National Financial. I left him lying on the ground near his car and walked out of his life, supposedly never to see him again. I fully intended to make that thought come true, except now I -- actually Karrie -- needed him, or at least his progeny.

Gardino now lived and worked two towns over from us, about an hour to our west. I knew he wouldn't be pleased to see me. I wasn't exactly pleased to be going to see him.

*****

"I don't even know where to start, Tommy," Traci practically whispered one Saturday night after the kids had gone to bed. We were sitting in the family room, me sipping on a shot of rye and she drinking a glass of merlot. She had said she wanted to talk. I didn't have a clue where this was going.

"I'm pregnant, Tommy. There's no other way to say it. I blew it. I really fucked up, Tommy."

I sat in stunned silence. STUNNED SILENCE. After we had Ellie five years previously, Traci asked me to get a vasectomy, and I complied. Obviously, this wasn't my child Traci now carried.

When my brain started to work again, I felt the bile starting to rise in my throat. I made it to the bathroom before that night's dinner made a guest appearance.

I cleaned myself up and went back to the family room, where Traci still sat, looking very uncomfortable. I sat back down and glared at her. She took that as my hint to continue.

"I'm two months along," she whispered. "You know I don't believe in abortion. I know you don't believe in abortion. What are we going to do?"

"We? Who's we, white girl? Which we are we talking about? We as in you and me, or we as in you and your lover?"

Traci looked stricken. I was pretty sure she wasn't acting.

"So who is he, Traci? How long has this shit been going on?" I growled.

My stomach was doing flips. My anger was through the roof. I was as close to striking a woman as I've ever been. Her look changed from stricken to frightened.

"Ahh... uhh... Rick Gardino, from my office. During the trip to London we took a couple of months ago. We..."

"Yeah, I can figure the rest," I grumbled. "You did him bareback? How many times, genius?"

"We haven't used protection in ages, since you got snipped. I guess I just wasn't thinking about that anymore. I guess we got carried away. We did it five times, I guess," she rasped.

"In five days? You work quick!" I snapped.

"That's the only times we did it. I swear," she said.

I dropped my head into my hands. I wasn't sure I believed any of that, but it really didn't matter now, did it? My perfect world was no longer perfect and was never going to be the same. Not ever.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. I really am. I didn't want to hurt you," Traci said.

"You slept with another man several times. You didn't want to hurt me? What the fuck did you think was going to happen when I found out, slut?" I yelled.

She looked up shocked. I had never spoken to her like that before.

"I didn't think you'd ever find out. You wouldn't have if I didn't get pregnant. It didn't mean anything. It was just sex," she blurted out.

"So me not finding out would have made it all right then?" I asked. "What did I do to deserve that kind of disrespect?"

"I guess I didn't see it that way, Tommy. I still love you. It's just that we had gotten a little stale, you know what I mean? This was just a little something different. A little excitement. Just sex."

"Oh wait. Shouldn't we have discussed our little problem then, so maybe I could also get a little strange, too?"

"Ummm," she mumbled.

"Good answer, slut."

"So what do we do next, Tommy?"

"Well, in a perfect world, I'd shoot him dead and you'd have a painful miscarriage upon hearing that. But I know that's not going to happen. But I also know that if I divorce your skank ass, I get fucked financially, and in effect lose, Arnie and Ellie. I can't let that happen."

I went into our bedroom and packed a suitcase. Traci sat crying in the family room.

Two weeks in a dingy hotel room didn't give me any fresh insights into my dilemma. I missed my kids terribly. I spoke to them every night by phone. Every night after they had their turn, Traci got on the line and tearfully begged me to come back.

"Can't keep up with your lovers while being a single parent?" I finally blurted out one night.

Traci burst into tears over the phone -- again. God, I was tired of that act.

"Why the fuck are you crying, bitch? You're the one that caused this by breaking your vows!" I yelled at her.

Numbers are a wonderful thing. You can get lost in them, and during that time you can forgot your troubles. My work did that for me. Numbers don't have emotions. I needed things to be black and white. Numbers are black and white. I finally arrived at a solution: not necessarily a good solution, but at least a solution.

I went and visited Rick Gardino in the employee parking lot at First National Financial, where he was a vice president. I approached him right before he got into his Lexus. He was a little bigger than I was, but I had surprise and rage on my side. I hit him with my best shots twice under his ribs on the left side of his body. He made an oomph sound and doubled over before I punched him in the throat with a great left. He went down in a heap and I kicked him twice in the nuts to make sure I had his attention.

"Here's how this is going to work, fuckhead," I yelled at him. "You are never going to even be in the same room as my wife, Traci, or I'm going kill you slowly the next time I see you. Are we clear on that?"

He moaned in agreement, or at least I took that as agreement. I saw several other First National employees looking on. I figured they would call the cops. I got in my car and headed for my house.

Traci was shocked when I walked in the door, but had to wait her turn as Arnie and Ellie practically stormed me when I walked in. After they let go, she practically rushed into my arms crying, but I got my hands out and stopped her from moving in for a hug. She looked crushed.

I told her we would talk after the kids were in bed.

I got the rye and wine out for the discussion that took place. I say discussion, but in reality, it was a monologue by me after I confirmed that she still loved me and wanted to stay married. I told her that if she reaffirmed her commitment to me, we would stay married and I would raise her baby as my own as long as she never told Rick about the child. Her jaw practically hit the floor when I made that announcement, because both of our families and our closest friends knew that I had a vasectomy -- effectively outing me as Traci's cuckold of sorts. I explained to her that while I was not comfortable raising another man's child as mine, I didn't want to lose watching my children grow up because she made a mistake. I warned her, however, that I would not brook another indiscretion, and it still might take me a while to trust her again, if at all.

"I promise, Tommy, I will be the best wife ever, and I will never give you cause to leave us again," she gushed.

"I guess we'll see, Traci. I guess we'll see."

I knew I made it easier for Traci as Rick quit his job the day after I had my "discussion" with him. A month later, he and his family moved away as he accepted another job.

I don't think Rick was very popular at his old place of employment, as the cops never paid me a visit after I clubbed him in the parking lot that day, despite several of his fellow employees getting a good look at me during the altercation.

Neither of our families are stupid, so there was a lot of consternation expressed when we announced that Traci was pregnant. The first questions came from my family members, with my mother leading the charge. To say she was pissed at Traci would have been the biggest understatement of the year.

"She's making a fool of you, Tommy. Everybody knows you are a cuckold," she yelled at me over the phone soon after we told her about the pregnancy.

I was surprised my mother even knew what the word "cuckold" meant. I couldn't totally disagree with her, but as I explained my thinking to my family members, they understood. Of course that didn't mean they had to like it, and my father in particular was unequivocal about his dislike.

"You certainly didn't learn to be a pussy from me, Tom."

At least no one from Traci's family yelled at me. I think they were too embarrassed over what Traci had done to even look me in the eye.

We had never told either of our other children about my snip job, so we didn't tell them anything other than that Traci was pregnant. They were good with the news.

Rick has darker skin and darker hair than I do, but I got lucky in that Karrie was practically a dead ringer in looks to her mother with her facial characteristics, blonde hair and fair skin. No one even gave that a second thought.

It also didn't hurt that almost from birth, Karrie was a daddy's girl, following me around like a puppy when I was home from work. She was adorable and a tomboy and just as easy to love as my other two children. I really don't think I treated her any different from Arnie and Ellie, well, except for maybe spoiling her a little more as the baby.

*****

Now my baby was fighting for her life. I needed something more from Rick Gardino than his personal pain. I knew Gardino and his wife had three children. They would be half-siblings to my Karrie. That would give them a one in eight chance for being a tissue match. I drove over to his house the next evening after dinner. He visibly flinched back when he opened the door and saw me on his doorstep.

"I-I-I haven't been anywhere near her, honestly!" he cried out as he raised his hands defensively.

"I know you haven't. I'm not here to beat your ass. I... need your help."

I thought the scumbag was going to faint in surprise.

"Did she finally leave you and find a real man, asshole?" he sniped with a bemused smirk.

"I don't need you for that she. I need you for another she... my younger daughter. And actually I don't need you, just some samples from your kids."

Asswipe was smarter than I gave him credit for. He immediately picked up on what I was saying.

"I have another daughter... and she's in some sort of medical distress? Shit! Why didn't she tell me? I had a right to know!"

His wife showed up at the door at that point. He held up his hands in a surrender gesture.

"Something wrong, Rick?" she questioned.

I scowled hard at Rick.

"No, Babe. We're good. An old friend from the old days," he responded. "We're going to grab a quick drink down at The Line. Back in a bit."

I gestured toward my car. We drove a couple of miles in silence. We took a table in the back of the bar.

"You didn't have a right to know anything," I said after we each got shots of Jack Daniels. "She's my daughter. Always has been; always will be.

"That was the price Traci paid for getting to stay in our marriage. You paid in pain."

"So why now? What do you need?"

"My baby needs a bone marrow transplant. My kids are not tissue matches. We need to have your kids tested. They each have a one in eight chance of matching. It's the best chance my Karrie has."

Asswipe turned his eyes down to the table. I know under normal circumstances I would have had to have beaten an approval out of him. This ask, however, was for a child -- technically his child.

"I understand there's a time crunch. I'll have them tested tomorrow," he said quietly.

"Thank you," I responded just as quietly.

He never asked to see any photos of Karrie. I never offered to show him any. We sat in complete silence while we finished our shots. Then I drove him home. We shook hands before he got out of my car. I told him I wasn't going to rat him out to his wife. He could give her any excuse he could think up. I had given him the email address of the hospital where Karrie was.

I didn't see it coming.

"Tom, could you tell me why I got four tissue samples from the Gardino family? They all turned out negative, by the way, which was to be expected since we don't even know who these people are," Dr. Rauh said when he called me a few days later.

"What do you mean you don't know who these people are?" I asked as my volume rose. "They are all blood relations to Karrie. One is her biological father. The other three are half-siblings..."