Twisted Faith 6j2w52

TWISTED

FAITH

VICTORIA SCHWIMLEY

With Jessica Morrison

Copyright © 2014 Victoria Schwimley Published by Victoria Schwimley

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to Jamie and Kaylee, two single moms making it work. You are never alone

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

David

If anyone had ever told me I would save someone’s life, I would laugh in his or her face. They teach us about this kind of stuff in seminary, but no one ever thinks they will actually use the training. I, like many pastors, expect our careers to deliver many sermons, pep talks, and a lot of advice, but we hope we never have to talk anyone out of suicide. This would be the second time in my career that I would have to pull from my memory all the things I had learned and be an instrument for God. The urgent call came in while I was shutting down my computer for the night. I was ready to head home for some much-needed rest, much needed love, and Betty’s stewed chicken and parsley dumplings. My stomach growled at the thought of the savory dish for which Betty was famous, and I couldn’t wait to get home and devour it. It had been a trying day, most of which I spent nursing a pounding headache. Several times that day, I almost went home early, but I couldn’t escape the mound of paperwork needing attention. It made me long for the days when all I had to pastor was a bunch of kids. I thought the paperwork was bad then. It was nothing compared to that of running the entire church. I’m thankful now that I stayed. If I hadn’t, I would have missed the call, and I might not have been able to live with the outcome. Neither my conscience nor my heart could handle another loss. The church council met the previous evening and spent hours bickering over whether they should spend Wendy Parson’s endowment gift on upgrading the cooling system in the youth center or repairing the potholes in the parking lot. Both projects were long overdue, but then so were the utility bills. I sighed. Unfortunately, the endowment gift couldn’t be used for daily operating expenses. I don’t understand why people have to put such strong restrictions upon the gifts they leave. It’s frustrating when you have a need but can’t touch the money you need to fix it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I begrudge the gift, it’s just that it’s hard for me to think about spending thousands of dollars on

a cooling system when the church can’t even pay for the electricity to run it. When I first came to be the pastor of New Hope Christian Church, I had just that —new hope. I was newly married and looking forward to a new job. A recent encounter with a young man, who had killed a girl in a careless car accident, had inspired me to make the most of my life. Taking a big chance, I answered an ad in a local clergy magazine for a church that was looking for a young, energetic pastor to revive a flailing church. I had always been a youth pastor but thought it might do me some good to broaden my challenges. What I found was a disgruntled, fading congregation, and it was my job to fix it. My hopes dashed to the ground. How was I supposed to do that when the of the congregation couldn’t even agree on the best way to spend their money. As a youth pastor, all I’d had to worry about was pastoring—and I didn’t have to worry about electric bills. I stood looking at the ringing phone. A cold dread spread through my body. An omen from God, perhaps. I answered it after the fourth ring, having spent the time pondering whether I even wanted to answer it; it was, after all, past office hours, and a call that came in this late usually meant trouble somewhere. Even so, something drew my hand toward the receiver. “Hello,” I said, “New Hope Christian Church, Pastor David Owens speaking. How may I help you?” A young voice, squeaking like a little mouse came back at me, so faint that it was almost a whisper. “I’m sitting in your parking lot and I’m going to kill myself.” I froze. My heart literally slowed its beat. The temperature in the room seemed to go up about twenty degrees, and I pulled the collar of my shirt away from my neck to reduce the heat. Then, all my long hours of training seemed to kick into gear. I said, “How may I help you? May I come out and see you?” The girl hesitated. I waited anxiously for some kind of indication that life still clung on the other end. I crossed to the window, thankful for once that the blasted, long, cord stretched all the way. I had been badgering Ashley, my secretary, about getting a short cord, but she just kept saying there was no money. Now I was pleased she hadn’t listened to me. I peered through a crack in the blinds. “Stay away from the window,” the voice came back, stress clearly audible.

I immediately dropped the blinds and stepped back. She was calling all the shots. I knew deep down that she didn’t really want to kill herself or she wouldn’t have called me. “I’m stepping back,” I said. “Tell me what you need me to do.” Suddenly, I heard a baby cry. I froze. My heart skipped a couple beats. I wasn’t just dealing with one life; there were two on the line here. “It sounds as if your little one might be hungry. Do you need some food?” There was a moment’s hesitation before she answered, as if she were trying to decide if she could deny the child’s existence. “She’s fine,” she said. “I just fed her.” “How old is she?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation open. “Three months,” she said, sniffing back sobs. I ran through the possibilities in my head in an attempt to get to the root of the despair. She sounded young, so maybe she was a teenage mother who had decided to keep her baby, not knowing how hard it actually would be. On the other hand, perhaps that dreaded post-partum depression, that had so recently been making headlines, had become known for her. Whatever was causing her distress, I knew I had to figure it out soon or two lives would be at stake. “What’s her name,” I asked. I thought if I kept her talking about her child, I might help her see some hope in her future. Another pause and, “Her name is Grace.” “That’s a pretty name.” “I hate it,” she said. “My mother named her,” she snarled. Ah, I thought; a little more was coming clear to me. “May I ask your name?” I waited through a long pause, and I guessed she was wondering if it was a trick question. As if by telling me her name, she might be revealing herself. “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said in a voice that betrayed her true wishes. “I should call you something,” I said. “Hey you in the parking lot doesn’t sound very flattering, not to mention it’s quite the mouthful.”

To my surprise and delight, she rewarded me with a cursory chuckle. “I guess you could call me Abby.” I wondered if that truly was her name, or was she trying to throw me off track. I guessed it was probably a shortened name. I took a stab at it. “Is that short for Abigail?” “Only my mother calls me that when—” She broke off. Caught off guard, Abigail had revealed a vital piece of information about herself. “I guess it doesn’t matter.” I ventured to take a step closer. “It’s a little chilly outside, Abby,” I said, careful not to use Abigail. It had become my suspicion that this girl was angry with her mother for some reason. “Wouldn’t you like to bring Grace inside? We have a nursery in the back; I’m sure she would be more comfortable.” Her tone became angry, and I knew I had stepped too far. “Stop telling me what to do! Everyone’s always telling me what to do!” “No. No,” I said. “It was just a suggestion. If you’re more comfortable out there, then by all means you can stay there.” I pondered the notion of calling 9-1-1 on my cell phone, but that option held risks of its own. What if Abby were holding a gun and the sound of the sirens scared her into action. Besides, I hadn’t given up hope yet that I would be able to coax her inside. She had come to me, after all. “Are you still there, Abby?” I asked when the silence grew. “Yeah, I’m here.” The crying had ceased, so whatever was happening outside, Grace was now content. I played on that. “I see Grace has stopped crying. You must be good with her.” “I’m okay,” she said. “She pisses me off sometimes, and even I know that’s not good.” Dan, our director of custodial services, walked in the back door, ready to clean away our daily grime. He made a clattering of noises and I made a gesture to

silence him. “What was that?” Abby asked, with the slight edge in her voice returning. “Nothing, Abby,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray me. “I heard a noise. Did you call the cops? Oh, geez. I gotta go.” I heard a rustling sound. “No, wait,” I pleaded. “I didn’t call anyone. You have my word.” The line was silent. I was just thinking she had hung up when she said, “If I can’t trust a man of God, then who can I trust?” I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Dan, who had come to stand beside me. A puzzled expression on his face relayed his interest. There was nothing I could do that wouldn’t draw attention and scare Abby away, so I made a hushing gesture with my finger and Dan sat down. I was still standing at this point, hovering just far enough from the window that I might catch some kind of a glimpse. I risked a step forward and caught the faintest evidence of a car’s fender, hidden just behind the wall leading to the parking lot. Was she sitting in that car? Or was she hiding around a corner on foot, perhaps pushing a baby carriage. “You can trust me, Abby,” I said. “It’s not my fault, you know,” she said, as if I had a clue as to what she was referring. “She blames me, but it’s really his fault.” I frowned in puzzlement. “Who’s fault, Abbey? If you tell me what happened I might be able to help.” I heard some rustling, and then the unmistakable squeak of leather as someone slid across a seat. I risked peering out the window. “Is that you, Abby? Is that your car in the parking lot?” “Don’t come out here,” she reminded me. “Or I swear I’ll kill us both.” “I won’t, Abby. I’m going to stay here unless you want me to come out. Then all you have to do is ask.” I wasn’t worried about Abby and Grace freezing; it was

April and had been an unseasonably nice day, but the nights still grew cold, and I didn’t want them to get chilled. “Can we agree on that, Abby?” She didn’t answer, and I wondered if perhaps she was giving silent permission. “Abby?” I asked again. “Okay,” she breathed, her voice softening a bit. Dan handed me a piece of paper. On it he had written: do you want me to call the police? I shook my head, wrote back, call my wife and tell her I’ve had an emergency. Dan nodded his understanding and ran off. I turned my attention back to Abby. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Abby? I get the feeling you really don’t want to hurt that innocent little baby.” She scoffed, “She’s not that innocent—just ask my father. If you listen to him, he’ll say we both had it coming.” My pulse quickened as she revealed more of the story. I didn’t like the way it was heading. Thousands of children are abused by a trusted elder every day—I had special training in dealing with abused children as part of my pastoral training, but I’d never had to put the skill to the test. “I’m listening, Abby, if you want to tell someone.” At first, I thought she either hadn’t heard me or was ignoring me, but then she began her tale. I sat down in my big, comfortable chair and listened with rapt attention to Abby’s story. I expected child abuse, sexual assault maybe, but I never expected the truth of her tale.

Abby

My name is Abby Stein. I’m a junior at Waldorf High School in Ashcroft California, a small coastal town in Northern California that is run by a bunch of Bible thumping, backward thinking men, who lay claim to “their women” at an early age. At least that’s the way it seems to me. I’m sure there are some people who wouldn’t agree with me, but then they’ve probably all been brainwashed their entire lives.

My father is an ant, and although he has an office downtown, he usually works from home, which makes it extremely difficult to escape his constant scrutiny. Every week he stands all three of us, my mother, my sister, and me, against a wall and throws questions at us. He will want to know to the detail what we’ve spent our money on that week. If he feels we’ve wasted any of it, he will cut back the household budget the next week by that much. His control makes me want to puke. I swear my eyes glaze over when he begins ranting. When he finishes yelling at us, he’ll look me in the eye and say, “What the hell are you doing standing there in the corner when the man of the house needs a beer?” The “man of the house” as my father is so plainly fond of saying—could mean a lot of things to a lot of people, but to me it meant the “chauvinistic pig of the house.” While I was small and growing up, I didn’t understand the term, but as I grew I understood this to be an honored place—a place where a man took charge of guiding his household—seeing them through the adjustments and changes that life threw at the family. But in my house, it meant the man who got waited on hand and foot, owner of the remote control, hoarder or the last dish of ice cream —owner of the dreaded belt. My father was a heavy disciplinarian—a trait ed down from his father, and his father’s father, and his grandfather’s father…well, you get the point. In my home ‘yes sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘right away sir,’ were all words by which to save your fanny. My mother stood by, watching of course, ing, if not secretly reveling in the punishments my father doled out to us. By “us” I mean me and my little sister Gabby, short for Gabriella. Gabby is fourteen and very lucky because my parents have learned all their mistakes with me. This also means she has to pay for my mistakes, which makes me feel bad, but hey! I’m just learning myself—right? Gabby is a girls’ softball star, a star pupil in school, and slotted to be the next pastor of our congregation—that is if they ever start giving females the credit they deserve and actually let them make a difference to the “fledgling flock.” Don’t get me wrong, though, I love Gabby and wouldn’t hurt her for the world. It’s not her fault she’s Mommy and Daddy’s pet. I try to do right, honestly, I do, but sometimes I just get so…angry. When I’m angry, I often step out of line— which is how I’ve come to this dreadful point in my life of no return. I’m about to rock my parents’ world—and there’s nothing I can do to avoid it. And,

unfortunately, I’m scared of what’s going to happen. I came home from school that day, tired, cranky as all hell–there’s one sin against me—and sicker than a dog (pardon the cliché). Throughout the school day, I couldn’t keep a thing in my stomach. It’s been happening to me for a few weeks now. I had pushed all the possibilities aside—stomach flu, food poisoning, bad reaction to medication—which I took hoping to give myself a bad reaction, but in the end I had to it to the possibility—I might be pregnant. As I’ve suggested before, I come from a strong Christian family with strong Christian values. That means I’m always expected to hold my head above all the temptations, all the negative behavior that my parents can’t possibly imagine is out there, and be a “good girl.” I’ve tried explaining peer pressure to my parents at every turn, but all they ever say is, “Don’t you think Jesus had temptations, too?” I really want to laugh when they say this, but I don’t. They don’t seem to understand that I’m not Jesus, and Jesus didn’t have to live with R rated movies, four-letter curse words, scantily clothed bodies running around the school campus, or guys and girls making out in the hallways. Jesus didn’t have to live in the twenty-first century. I even begged my parents to put me in an all-girls Christian academy to avoid these temptations, but they said I should be able to rise above them—after all, “Jesus did.” I have really gotten tired of hearing those words. Although, I have to say today of all days I was glad I attend a public high school, because when my friend Brittney, who sits behind me in English class, jokingly uttered the dreaded words I’d been trying to avoid, I took a deep breath, heaved a huge sigh, and carted myself right off to the nurse’s office. If I had been in a Christian high school, I never would have dared to do that. I pushed open the door, which seemed heavier today than it had ever felt before, and marched my little butt up to the desk and said, “I’d like to see the nurse please.” Wendy Snow looked me over and asked, “Are you sick?” I dropped one shoulder, cocked my head to the side, and raised my eyebrows. I just had to shake my head at her. I couldn’t help it—why else would I be asking to see the nurse. I opened my mouth to respond, expecting to say, “Yes.” What I

said was, “Is that any of your business.” I was so shocked that I clamped my hand over my mouth, as my eyes became wide circles. “I’m so sorry,” I added, but the damage was done. Tiny little Wendy Snow, who has never said a cross word in all the years I’ve known her, cried. Later I learned it was the hormones speaking, but that didn’t change the fact that I had made someone cry. Wendy shoved a clipboard at me that had a place to sign in and a reason for my visit. I took the clipboard and wrote my name. Under the column that asked the reason for my visit, I wrote, sick. Wendy took back the clipboard, looked at what I wrote, and then narrowed her eyes at me. “Sit, please,” she managed to get out between clenched teeth, and I did. It seemed like forever, but eventually a door opened and the nurse walked out. She was tall and lean, had slightly graying hair, which made me think she was probably in her forties, but what do I know. I’d been there on a few occasions when my stomach was aching, and ed her to be kind. How kind would she be now when she found out why I was here? She looked around the room, surveying her choice of patients I suppose. As I was the only patient in the room at the time, I got to go first. I stood nervously inside the door. I kept my hands at my sides, my palms resting against my thighs, so she wouldn’t see how sweaty they were. She shut the door and sat at her desk, indicating I should sit in the seat next to her. I took a huge step sideways and slithered into the chair. She smiled at me. Her smile was warm and friendly, and my shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “What can I do for you, Abby?” she asked. “I’m sick,” I said. “I got that from the sheet and the fact that you’re here.” She put the back of her hand on my forehead, just as my mother had done every year since birth. I pulled away, suddenly ashamed at comparing the image. She was nothing like my mother. “I don’t have a fever.” If I offended her, she gave no indication. She just smiled again. “Well,” she said, “perhaps you won’t mind humoring me.” Then she stuck a thermometer in my mouth. I thought about taking it out, but really, I welcomed the delay. While the mercury was climbing, she picked up my wrist and took my pulse. She smiled

again, so I assumed it was okay. She took the thermometer out of my mouth and looked at it. “No fever and your pulse is good and strong. So what brings you here?” I swallowed and repeated, “I’m sick.” “We’ve established that,” the nurse said, and despite her niceness, I could see she was growing impatient. “And I’m tired,” I added. “Are you sleeping well?” “And my boobs are sore.” She cocked her head in a puzzled frown. “And I’ve missed two periods.” She had taken out her pad of hall es by now, the same kind every teacher on campus puts in his or her drawer. “I can write you a note if…” and then she caught on. Her mouth rounded in a big O formation as her eyes grew wide. “I see,” she said. “You’ve had a test?” I shook my head. “No.” “Would you like me to help out there?” I nodded and looked down at my hands, afraid to speak, ashamed to look her in the eye. She opened her bottom desk drawer. It was divided into two halves. One side held a dozen or so pregnancy tests. Condoms filled the other side. Oh how I wished I had come to her earlier to get my hands on the other side. My mother had been one of many parents who had thrown a real ruckus when the school had decided to hand out condoms to the students. They had even formed a protest group and picketed out front. “It’s our right not yours to teach our children about sex and birth control,” they had all ranted. Their marches had lasted five days, and I took the teasing of my life. I, of course, hadn’t cared one way or the other about the issue—at the time, that is. That was before Jimmy Martinez had noticed me, and before the big blow up with my parents made me run straight to him—and unfortunately, his bed.

I watched the nurse take out the pregnancy test. Her hand paused ever so slightly as she began to hand it to me. “I’m not here to judge,” she said. “You don’t need to be shy or embarrassed.” I tried to smile but could only manage a nod. “There’s the bathroom,” she said. “There a cups in there. Do you need me to go over the instructions with you?” “No,” I said. “I can figure it out.” I tentatively reached out a hand and took the package from her. Inside the bathroom, I sat on the toilet for what seemed like ages. Then I took everything from the box and thoroughly read the instructions. Then I read them again—anything to prolong the inevitable. With a heavy sigh, I peed into a cup and, using the tiny plastic dropper that came with the test, I extracted a small amount of urine and dropped it onto the circle indicated. I cleaned up, washed my hands, and took the stick back to the nurse. I knew the results from the look on her face. I could see genuine empathy and was grateful for it. I felt like my heart was in my feet. “Do you know what you want to do?” she asked. I shook my head. Perhaps when the reality sank in—when I went from maybe pregnant, to probably pregnant, to definitely pregnant… I might think straighter. “You have options available.” She turned my chin toward her face. “I’m here to help.” I stared at her. Sure, she was here for the eight-to-three shift. What about when I had to break this news to my parents, would she be there then? I tried to smile, but my lips betrayed me—I just couldn’t bring myself to express any kind of joy when I knew what was in store for me. Tears welled in my eyes, but I was determined to be brave and sucked them back. I thanked her and rose to leave. She handed me a card with her name printed on it. She raised her eyebrows in a serious tone. “Anything you need,” she said, and I knew she meant it.

Chapter Two

David

I listened to Abby’s tale with a heavy heart. I had known kids who got into trouble before, had even helped them through troubled times. Such as the time I helped Ryan break the news to his parents that he had fallen asleep at the wheel and killed a girl with his car. Then there was the aftermath of the whole ordeal, where I had to help an entire community grieve for the loss of a friend, a recent convert to Christianity. Or the young couple from a previous church who had decided they were in love and ran off and got married. All was well until the day the young man had to leave for the Army, and Lauren had to stay at home to finish high school. While she was flirting with boys at the senior prom, Jason had been boozing it up with his fellow Army buddies and hanging out in bars. The young couple soon realized they had been too young and got the marriage annulled. This, however, was a different story. I had not been there for Abby to help her through the agony of carrying a child inside her—for that was plainly clear given the presence of Grace in the background. Somehow, though, I felt Abby’s story was going to take me much deeper than a mere teenage pregnancy. I snapped my fingers and Dan came. I scribbled on a piece of paper Get hold of social services. Dan nodded and took off to find a private phone. I returned my attention to Abby. “I can only imagine how scared you must have been,” I said. “You-have-no-idea,” she said, punctuating each word, spitting them with vehemence. “I knew what was waiting for me when I got home.” “Decisions such as yours can be daunting and difficult to make.” “It’s not like I had a choice,” she said. I heard her sniff back some sobs and my heart broke even harder—if that were at all possible.

“What happened when you got home?” I asked. Not at all sure I really wanted to know, but ready and willing to hear it all.

Abby

Well, there I was standing outside my father’s study—heart pumping wildly, palms sweating, teeth clenched in fear. I had asked both my parents to meet me there, foolishly thinking my mother might be some kind of buffer against the tirade I was sure my father was about to throw. She’s the one who called, “Come in.” I opened the door and crept in. They were both sitting there, ramrod straight upon the loveseat that sat against the wall. As I mentioned before, my father was an ant and would often have clients to the house to conduct business, so they had spared no expense in making the environment friendly. Mahogany ing covered half of each wall. The remainder of the wall space was painted in a soft cream, with a sage green trim along the top below the ceiling. The drapes were a beautiful buttercup yellow. I had asked to have them in my bedroom, but my mother had said they were too expensive and a waste of the resources God had been kind enough to bestow upon us. I had plain white vinyl blinds in my window. Despite the warming effect of the room, I felt cold and scared. I didn’t know whether to stand or sit, so I shifted back and forth between each leg. My mother didn’t even bother to look at me. She found more interest in picking at some nonexistent string on the loveseat, and my father just stared at the wall above me, also not really looking at me. As if little ole` sixteen-year-old Abby couldn’t possibly have anything to say that would have been worthy of interrupting his day. He tapped his foot. “Get on with it, Abigail,” my mother said, and I winced. Just the word Abigail meant trouble. “I’m not a baby anymore,” I started, but decided that was too condescending, as if my parents didn’t know how old I was. “What I mean to say is I’m old enough

to make decisions for myself—” My mother cut me off. “If this is about college again, Abigail—your father and I are firm; you will live at home and attend the state school. There is no reason to throw away good money on one of those fancy universities.” I shook my head. “It’s not about college, Mother.” I bit my lip, hoping the pain would sober me and keep me from a sharp comeback. “It’s about babies,” I blurted out. “Babies!” my mother cried, incredulously. “You know I can’t have any more babies,” my mother said, a bitter sadness in her eyes. My mother had lost two babies following the birth of my little sister. My parents had wanted more children—a fact I couldn’t understand—but after the last miscarriage, my mother had hemorrhaged and the doctors had to perform a hysterectomy. They said it was God’s plan and they would have to live with His decisions, but I could see the pain. I shook my head again, more slowly this time. “Not you, Mother…me,” I said, my voice a soft fluff of words, but loud enough to be heard. “What did you say?” my mother demanded. I looked at my father, who sat with his fingers laced together, two fingers sticking up, like he used to do when my sister and I were little and he would play the “here’s the church” game with us. He just kept tapping his two index fingers together, his eyes stonily boring into me. I didn’t answer my mother’s question, as I took it to be rhetorical. After what seemed like an eternity my father spoke. “No, Abigail.” His tone was low, guttural, commanding. As if merely by demanding “no” of me, my body would comply. I almost laughed, but I didn’t, catching myself just in time. My mother, taking me totally by surprise, rose from her seat, strode across the room and struck me across the face. “Whore,” she spat. My mouth hung open slightly, and I could feel the tingle where she had slapped me. I would have expected it of my father, but my mother! My mother, in all my conscious memories, had never struck me. I raised my hand, caressed my cheek. “Do you think that will make it go away?”

I asked. Her response was to slap me again. This time I stood straight as an arrow. My mother reached out, grabbed a handful of my hair and dragged me through the doorway and up the stairs, stopping outside the bathroom. “Get in there,” she demanded. I narrowed my eyes at her. My heart started thumping so hard I could feel it punctuate my breathing. “Why?” “We are going to wash the seed of the devil away from you.” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I complied. I would have been more than thrilled to make this whole thing go away. I’m not sure what I expected, but I followed her command without comment. I was shocked when she followed me in. “I can bathe myself,” I said. Wordlessly, she reached under the bathroom sink and took out a box. Immediately I thought of the kind nurse who had given me the pregnancy test. The words on this box read Massengill Douche. I’m not wise with the ways of the world, but I did know what a douche was. “Mother!” I cried, horrified at what was about to happen. “I’m not using that.” “You are,” she said. “And I’m not leaving this bathroom until you do.” When I didn’t move to take it from her, she thrust it at me. “Do I need to get your father in here to hold you down while I do it?” I grabbed the box, tapped my foot on the ground, and crossed my arms across my chest. “Are you going to stand there and watch me?” “That’s precisely what I intend to do,” she said. I shook my head and leaned in for a whisper, “It doesn’t work after the seed has taken root.” I it the comment came out with a hint of sarcasm in it, but it hardly deserved the thunderous slap I felt across my face. That made three times in one day. Mother was on a roll. It was clear she was not leaving, so I opened the box, took off my pants, and climbed into the bathtub. Letting my legs fall open and resting them against the tub, I inserted the pointed end of the douche kit into my vagina, hoping I was wrong and the tiny embryo would flow out with the fluid and into the drain, washing it out of my life, as if it had never existed. I squeezed the bottle, and

then my eyes in a vain attempt to hide my humiliation. Well, as you’ve guessed, I felt cleaner afterward, but the baby was still there. Then an odd thought struck me—Mother and Father were strong pro-lifers, a fact demonstrated by their monthly marches in front of Planned Parenthood, for which I suffered endless teasing from the kids at school. I toweled myself dry and pulled on my pants. Then I looked at my mother and said, “Isn’t this some kind of abortion—I mean you always say it’s God’s will and all, do you have the right to interfere?” This time I expected the slap and prepared myself for it. “Not when you’re carrying the seed of the devil,” she said, and turned around and walked out. I knew it had been too easy with my father, and sure enough, when I opened the door he was standing there, a stern look on his face, his belt dangling from his hand. I didn’t have to ask what was next; I knew the look, the stance, and even the smell he emitted when he was readying himself for a whipping. I walked nonchalantly to my bedroom and lay across the bed, preparing myself for the blows. He snapped the belt, letting me know the first one was coming. My father didn’t use the belt often, but when he did it was painful, and it got worse as we grew, as each transgression was punished by one whack for each year alive. That meant I got sixteen.

Chapter Three

David

I was close to tears as I listened to her story. I even imagined I could feel each one of those sixteen blows. Nobody should have to endure that much humiliation just because they made a mistake. I wondered what kind of religious upbringing her parents had had that would have given them such a twisted view of God and His love. Dan, having made his call, had come back with Minerva Drew. Minerva was one of the people who had given me so much grief at the previous night’s meeting. I hoped we weren’t going to have more trouble between us. They glided into the room and quietly sat in the corner. I knew I should make them leave; this was, after all, a private moment for Abby, and even though we weren’t in an official counseling session, I was certain this would fall under the privacy guidelines. I didn’t make them leave. For some reason their presence was giving me focus. Anyway, they could only hear one side of the conversation. The social worker still had not arrived, but then I hadn’t expected it so soon. I knew there were a lot of people in crisis and, while Abby’s suicidal presence in my parking lot constituted an emergency to me, Social Services had their own set of emergencies. I strongly felt if I kept Abby talking, the urge to end her life might . “How bad was the beating,” I asked. “Bad enough to send me to bed for two days,” she said, “and to need an ice pack for six. Strangely, though, the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as the name calling. I knew I wasn’t a whore.” She sat in silence a few moments. I began to sweat around the collar and readied myself to dash to the parking lot for a last minute save—and then she went on.

Abby

It was the worst beating Father had ever given me. I want to be clear when I say Father was not a child ab. He didn’t think up things for which to whack us, nor did he derive any sadistic justice at seeing us suffer, but rather he was a strong believer in the “spare the rod spoil the child” philosophy of child-rearing. He left me on the bed and I cried until I had no tears left to cry. Then I lay there all night thinking about my situation. Although I was not a pro-lifer to the extent of my parents, I didn’t believe in abortion; so that was out of the question. I didn’t really even know the baby’s father very well, so marriage was impossible. I wanted to go to college, so keeping the baby also seemed impossible. Obviously, the only other alternative was adoption. As I lay there, the idea began to grow on me. I visualized some childless couple snuggling up to my baby. Their eyes would glow with happiness—and I would feel as if I had given the gift of the world to two desperate people. Okay, maybe that sounded a little romantic, but no matter how my baby got here, I wanted the best for him or her. I envisioned trips to the zoo, birthday parties with clowns and big cakes. There would be a Christmas tree, too—brimming to capacity with presents wrapped in fancy paper. My baby wouldn’t grow up wondering if its parents loved him or her. He or she would know it from the look of parental love in their eyes. I would make sure of that. My parents, however, had other plans for my baby. I got up at the usual time the next morning, six-thirty. This gave me just enough time to shower, dress, do my morning scripture reading, and eat breakfast. I stumbled to the bathroom, hung over from my lack of sleep and crying. One look at my face and I wanted to run back to bed. My face was still red and my eyes were so swollen that I could not close them all the way. A warm shower somewhat improved my appearance, and a cold washcloth held over my eyes brought down the swelling. In order to accomplish all this, I had to forego something. As I was getting sick every morning, I decided I easily could

skip breakfast. Then I had second thoughts. I knew the baby needed all the nourishment it could get, so I skipped the Bible scripture and made my way down to the dining room to the rest of the family. Every meal in our home was prepared by my mother, eaten by all of us, and cleaned up by my sister and me, this included the morning meal. If the meal was served just five minutes late, my sister and I would miss the school bus and have to walk to school. I was right on the nose as the chimes in the clock began to toll. When I entered the dining room, I stopped short. Taped to my chair was a banner that read Sinner. Below that word, was a subtitle Fornicator. My humiliation was so deep that I felt a knife plunge through my heart. I was determined not to cry, however, and took my seat without a word. My sister looked at me and said, “It’s okay if we miss the bus today. Markum’s mother said she’d give us a ride.” My mother touched my sister’s arm. “No talking to the sinner,” she said. “We are judged by the company we keep.” My sister’s face fell, and I gave her an encouraging smile, letting her know it was okay. “Besides,” my mother continued, “Abigail is serving penance; she’s not going to school today.” My head spun toward my mother. “I have a chemistry exam today. The AP exam is only three weeks away. I can’t miss class.” I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up, and unless I got good grades in Chemistry, I wasn’t going to get into a good medical college. My parents had never been a strong er in my school activities, but neither had they ever stood in my way, until today. “You will not go to school,” my father put in, “and you will not speak to your mother like that. Now eat your breakfast.” My sister was already half done with her eggs and toast when the argument began. She stuffed the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, and was now attempting to swallow the whole thing. Panicked eyes looked at me, and I wanted to cry for her. She certainly had done nothing wrong and did not deserve to be subjected to this. “I’m not hungry,” I said. “May I be excused?”

“You haven’t eaten a bite,” my father said. My mother grinned. “Let her starve the devil’s child. God doesn’t want such tainted genes.” I sighed. “Would you please stop referring to my baby as the devil’s child?” Thankfully, my mother didn’t say anything. She just rose from the table and began clearing it. “You may go to school now,” she told Gabby. My sister could not run out of there fast enough. In ten seconds flat, she had her backpack hoisted on her back and her lunch box in hand. She flew out the door without a word. My mother didn’t even bother to reprimand her for leaving without a proper goodbye. I helped my mother with the dishes, hoping to get back in her good graces. I attempted small tidbits of conversation but got no response. When the last pot was dried, and I was in the process of putting it away, she asked, “Who’s the father?” I sighed, biting back the urge to say, “I thought he belonged to the devil.” Instead, I said, “It’s nobody you know.” It’s nobody I know, neither, I added in my mind. “What’s his name?” I leaned against the immaculate, white-tiled counter. I looked at her and decided I owed her at least that. “Jimmy Martinez.” “Do you go to school with him?” I had to think about this question. I didn’t have Jimmy in any of my classes, but when I thought about it, I was pretty sure I had seen him around campus. I nodded, hesitantly at first, and then with more conviction. “He’s a senior.” I had met Jimmy at a party—a party I had no business being at. I didn’t even have to ask to go to a party; I already knew before words came out of my mouth the answer would be, “No.” This party, however, was special. My best friend, Jennifer Brayton was turning sixteen, and her parents were throwing her a huge birthday bash. Jennifer had the

coolest parents in the world, so I knew the party was going to be a dazzling success. I had begged, and I do mean begged my parents to let me go, but they would not relent. I stewed about it for days, did extra chores to get on their good side, corrected my own grammar when I spoke incorrectly, kept my room spic and span, and read—and quoted—extra Bible verses so my father would know I wasn’t a heathen. They would not budge. They had met Jennifer before, and even my mother had itted she was a nice girl. But still, they stood their ground. I was so angry that I stomped up to my room and slammed the door. I spied the window, slightly open, soft, gentle breeze blowing through it, and the temptation hit me. I knew my parents wouldn’t check on me, so after a seconds hesitation, I grabbed Jennifer’s birthday gift that I had made with my own hands. I never had any money of my own, other than the measly allowance Father doled out for essentials such as lunch and bus fare. He said he provided all I needed and didn’t need anything else. With one hesitant glance backward, I stole out the window. I have always been as good as I could; I treat my parents with respect, I obey my teachers, follow all—okay—most of the rules, and try my hardest to be a good Christian. This one time I felt they were being unreasonable. The party was well supervised and, while Jennifer’s parents were nowhere near as strict as mine were, they kept things in line. Had I not been so angry, and had Jimmy Martinez picked another girl to shower his attentions on, I might have been okay, but that isn’t how it went. I arrived at the party, pumped from anger and looking for a fight. When I walked in the front door, I literally bumped into Jimmy. He jumped back and held a glass high over his head. I thought he’d yell at me, but he didn’t. Instead, he shot me a really cute crooked grin. “Hey, sweet thing, better look where you’re walking.” He ran his hand down his shirt and took on an adorable aristocratic air that I found so amusing. “We wouldn’t want this really sweet punch to spill all over me and mess up this fine stylish garment now, would we?” I laughed and instantly began to relax. “Sorry,” I said, still chuckling. “I was thinking about something else, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He tilted his head toward me and winked. “It’s cool,” he said. “Do you want some punch?” He held his glass out in front of me. I wasn’t sure if he was

offering me his used punch, or just showing it to me. “It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t want to take yours away from you.” I looked past him, craning my neck to scan the party. “Have you seen Jennifer?” He pointed toward the backyard. “She’s getting her picture taken. Some guy’s out there with a camera and stuff like that. I think she’s going to be a while. Do you want me to show you where they’re keeping the loot?” I pulled my eyebrows together. “What?” He indicated the gift I held. “The birthday present—do you want me to show you where to put it?” I giggled. “Oh, yeah, sure,” I said. Although, I was pretty sure I knew where to put it; I had been to Jennifer’s house a million times. He took the package from me. I followed him to the family room. A large table stood in the corner. It was decorated with a multi-colored happy birthday tablecloth and had a huge bouquet of balloons in the center, some of which read Happy Birthday, and some that read Happy Sweet 16. He placed my gift among the many others. I surveyed the room. Jennifer’s mother had done a great job with the decorations. The place was beautiful. “Great party,” I said. He shrugged. “I guess. No booze though. That’s a bummer.” I shook my head. I had never even tried alcohol before, but I knew what had happened to many kids who had. “There’s time for that later,” I said. “What?” he shouted, as the music had suddenly gotten so loud we couldn’t hear. “We’re too young to drink!” I shouted back. He shrugged, whether in agreement or defeat I’m not sure. I started to walk toward the back door, intent on finding Jennifer. Jimmy followed on my heels. I didn’t stop him, but I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I spotted Jennifer under the oak tree. The photographer was still taking her

picture and she smiled radiantly for him. She spotted me and waved, exuberantly. “Oh, yeah!” the photographer shouted. “That’s beautiful.” Jennifer waved me over. “Come take a picture with me, Abby.” I smiled and complied. I’m an attractive brunette with hazel eyes and an okay figure. I could do better if I exercised more, but then that would take time away from my precious Chemistry studies. I know boys like me, but I’m not pretentious about it. God gave me a pleasant face, and I’m grateful. Jennifer, however, is a beautiful red head with brilliant green eyes. She has a perfect figure—which I will it I’m jealous over. She works hard for it, though, so I can’t deny her happiness. I stepped into an embrace and the photographer took a shot of it. “Happy Birthday,” I said. Then I turned and faced the camera. The photographer shot a bunch more. “Radical,” he said, and I laughed. I liked him. “That’s enough,” I said, holding my hand out as a barrier. “Yeah, like that,” he said. “Now pout.” I laughed again but complied. “Awesome,” he said as he snapped a bunch of pictures. Then I walked away. Jimmy was waiting for me. “You’re good,” he said. “You should model.” “Thanks. That’s sweet of you.” “No, I really mean it. You could make it.” I shook my head. “I’m going to be a doctor.” His mouth fell open and he smacked his chest. “Dude, me too.” I grinned. “Really?” “For real,” he said. “You take Chemistry yet?” “I’m taking it now,” I said. “It’s a bitch,” he said, “and I’m not lying about that.” “Did you take AP?”

“Hell no,” he said. “I’d flunk.” “What’s your GPA?” His face turned red, and he said, “3.2. Yours?” “4.25.” I felt kind of bad saying it, especially when his mouth fell open. I work hard though, so why not be proud of it. I walked across the yard and took a seat on a bench. He followed me again, and again I did not attempt to stop him. “No frickin way! What, do you study all the time?” “Pretty much,” I said, and I laughed lightly. “My parents are very strict, and very religious. It’s either the Bible or school books, and I choose school books.” I looked around, checking to see if anyone was around who could overhear. “I’m not even supposed to be here. I snuck out.” He slid closer, a whispering comrade. “Our secret. So, I have before me a bit of a naughty streak behind that Mary Jane look.” I looked down at my clothes. I wore plain Wal-Mart-special jeans, a form fitting, yet neat tee shirt with absolutely no embellishment because that would break some biblical rule about jewels, or some such crap my father doled out, and plain white sneakers. I had my hair pulled into a braid that trailed partway down my back. I didn’t own makeup because I wasn’t allowed to wear it. I suddenly wished I had taken the time to put on something more stylish—not that I had anything people might consider stylish. I felt self-conscious about my appearance and looked down at my lap. “Sorry. I didn’t have time to change.” He lifted my head and looked me in the eye. “Do you take me for some kind of a snob?” I looked around, noticing Jennifer’s bright pink party dress and Morgan Wright (who was always dressed so cool) in her sleek, black slacks and matching vest, and wanted to cry. My mother’s words rang in my head, “Friends don’t judge us for our looks, and God doesn’t condone boastful attire. Your clothes are just fine.” It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d taken the time to change or not; I had nothing better to change into.

Chapter Four

David

I as a boy having little money on which to get by. Dad was a forest ranger, and although his pay wasn’t bad, it didn’t stretch far for a family of six. Mother didn’t work outside the home; there wasn’t enough time. Mother was so busy keeping us kids in line, working whatever bake sale might be going to help whatever charity she ed at the time, and leading whatever Bible group was the rage of the day. I smiled fondly as I ed those days with anticipation—waiting impatiently for the fresh batch of cookies or brownies to come out of the oven. The cookies were for the Bible study group, but each of us kids was allowed one, followed by a big glass of milk to counteract the unhealthy snack. I sat there empathizing with Abby as I thought about how uncomfortable she must have been in her every day wear, while all the other kids had dressed for the party. With our tight budget, it was barely possible for Mom to keep us clothed—let alone splurge for fancy duds. Nevertheless, Abby’s situation sounded completely different. It seemed as if money wasn’t an issue for this family—it was more a matter of control. As a pastor, I understood the importance of teaching kids the basic significance of life and under indulging. I had seen far too many families run down the path of financial ruin over materialistic things. This brought my thoughts to Chelsea. Chelsea had been a pretty, young girl who thought the world owed her a large favor just for being in it. When Amber had first brought her to me, I had felt a strong sense of need in her. Her parents had had it all: nice home, fancy cars, unlimited credit cards—until her father lost his job and could no longer pay the bills. Poor Chelsea had gone through shopping withdrawals. Amber’s love and had brought Chelsea to me—and to God. “That must have been embarrassing for you,” I said to Abby. “You’re telling me,” she answered. “Here I was talking to the cutest boy I had ever known—not to mention surrounded by all the party fancies—and I was dressed like a hobo.”

I couldn’t help but emit a low chuckle as a vision of Abby—with a made-up face, of course, since I had no idea what she looked like—floated around in my mind’s eye, dressed in shabby, oversized pants and a tattered flannel shirt. “Were the clothes you were wearing really all that bad?” I asked, hoping to downplay her most likely overstated memory. “Well, no, I guess not,” she itted. “They were clean and fairly new—just not fitting for a party.” “More like something someone would wear to a football game?” “Exactly,” Abby said. “We didn’t have much money when I was growing up, Abby. So I can relate to being under-dressed for special occasions. My parents did their best, but that didn’t help me feel better when I was swimming in a sea of formal wear.” “That’s for sure,” Abby said. I could sense a slight change in her, as if I had scored a point. I felt encouraged and smiled. Minerva and Dan nodded encouragingly. “So what happened next,” I asked. “Did you have fun at the party?” “I had a blast,” she said. “I even got to the point where I wasn’t quite as embarrassed. Jennifer had finished with the pictures and had taken me upstairs to find me a new shirt to change into. She brushed my hair and helped me put on some makeup. I felt a little guilty about that, since I was forbidden to wear it, but it wasn’t as if I were killing someone, right?” she reasoned. I nodded, but thought, you still disobeyed. I said nothing and she must have taken my silence for what it was because she sighed. “I guess I knew it was wrong,” she itted. “I was just so angry with my parents—I wanted to scream.” “And…” I encouraged. “I went back downstairs feeling pretty. I must have been, too, because Jimmy stopped talking to Amy Smith and looked up and smiled at me. I saw his eyes

following me all the way down the stairs. It made me feel good, important, as if somebody cared enough to notice. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “I do. Self-esteem is an important thing, Abby, but we get it from more than just our looks.” “I know,” she said. “But just for that one night I wanted someone to think I was special.” “Jimmy did, didn’t he, Abby?” “Yeah,” she said, and I could hear the melancholy in her voice. I heard Grace start to whimper and Abby whispered tenderly to her, “Hush, sweetie. Mommy’s right here.” “Abby,” I began. “What?” I hesitated. I didn’t want to scare her off, but I was growing concerned about Grace. “I just want to remind you that we have a nursery in here. If you think it’s getting too cold for Grace, you’re welcome to bring her in. I’m not pushing you or anything—I just wanted you to know that.” “Thanks,” she said. “Is she hungry again?” I asked. “She’s getting there.” “Are you breastfeeding her?” She laughed. “Like I had a choice,” she scoffed. “I tried breastfeeding, but Mother forced me to stop.” “You didn’t want to?” “I wanted to be given a choice,” she said, and I could hear her voice rising to a crescendo. I was beginning to draw a picture of the situation in my mind. I didn’t want her to get angry again, so I steered her away from the subject.

“What happened at the party?” I asked “My whole world changed,” she said in a very low voice.

Abby

I came down the stairs and saw Amy sitting with Jimmy. Amy, pretty as a rainbow, turned and looked at me. Her charity smile made me feel low. But then Jimmy turned around and saw me. His face lit up and my spirits lifted. It wasn’t as if I suddenly transformed into a fairy princess or anything; it was just a little makeup and a new shirt, oh, and some high heels, too, which I had trouble walking in. I wanted to laugh at the look on Amy’s face, but I’m a Christian and knew that wouldn’t be the right thing to do. “Hi, guys,” I said, inviting myself to them. Jimmy moved over and made room for me between him and Amy. Amy didn’t like it, I could tell. I realized then that Amy had a crush on Jimmy. Far be it for me to interfere with blooming love. I got ready to stand up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.” Jimmy pulled me back down. “No, please stay. Amy and I were just talking about her brother being sent to Afghanistan.” I turned to Amy, feeling sorry for her. I could only imagine how it must feel to have someone you love fighting in a war. I had only a vague recollection of her brother from school, when we were freshmen and he was a senior. “I’m sorry, Amy. I’ll pray for him.” She smiled but it was superficial. “Thanks, Abby,” she said. “If you have other people to chat with don’t worry .” She clearly was trying to get rid of me. At any other time, I would have done the nice thing and faded away. But this wasn’t any other time. This was now, and I was in a fighting mood. I turned to Jimmy, smiled sweetly. “Do you want me to go?”

Jimmy shook his head. “No way.” Amy got angry and stalked off. I’d swear her lip was hanging so low to the ground she could step on it. I turned back to Jimmy. “Well, that’s that.” Then guilt the size of a mountain slapped me in the face. “That was pretty mean,” I said, and I lowered my head in shame. Jimmy put his arm around me and led me to the punch table. He ladled two glasses and handed me one. “I haven’t seen you around before,” he said. “Do you go to Waldorf?” I nodded and took a drink of my punch. It was really good, and I made an expression of delight. Jimmy smiled. “Yeah, it is good,” he said, but he hadn’t taken a drink yet. We made our way to the patio and sat on the same bench as before. A few boys had started a basketball game and they called to Jimmy to them. Jimmy waved them off, and they started laughing and making kissing noises at him. He grinned and I blushed. “Just ignore those idiots,” he said. I shrugged. “I know they’re just having fun.” I took a long swallow of my punch, hoping to hide my embarrassment. Besides, it was delicious. “You must really like that punch,” Jimmy said, pointing to my glass. “I do,” I said. “It’s the best punch I’ve ever had.” He handed me his glass. “Here, I haven’t had any of mine.” I accepted it gratefully. It was getting hot outside and I was thirsty. I gulped down the punch and giggled. “Sorry. I guess that was pretty rude.” He laughed. “Don’t worry about it.” “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked him. I was beginning to feel more relaxed, and I even managed to look straight at him, instead of averting my eyes. He had a handsome, no wait… gorgeous face. I was beginning to feel heat course through my body and thought it was the result of Jimmy’s presence.

“A kid brother,” he said, “I’m Daddy’s golden-football star destined to make it to the pros.” “I thought you wanted to be a doctor?” I asked. “I do,” he said. “My father has other plans, though.” “What are you going to do about it?” “Study pre-med and play ball. Then, no matter what he says, I’m going on to medical school.” “Are you good enough to play ball?” He shot me a strange look and I quickly clarified. “I’ve never been to a football game. I’m afraid I don’t even know the team.” My head was feeling kind of funny and I was thirsty again. “I’m going to get more punch,” I said. But when I started to stand up my legs didn’t want to. “Here,” Jimmy said. “I’ll get it. Are you feeling okay?” I nodded. “Sure. It’s just so hot.” I waved my hand in front of my face, as if trying to prove a point. Jimmy shook his head and walked off. As I sat there waiting, I began to think about how great it felt to be sitting here having a conversation with a football star. Some of the girls had given me funny looks—most of them most likely out of surprise. I didn’t exactly have a reputation for dating. I caught sight of Amy trying to latch on to her next prey. She waved as if nothing had happened between us—a good sport? I wondered. Then I saw her link her arm with Kenny Channing and watched her sway off with him. The thing about pretty girls like Amy is they don’t stay down long. Jimmy returned with my punch. “I found a larger glass and got some ice from the freezer. I hope this will keep you.” “Thank you.” I took a large gulp and felt the coolness tingle down to my legs. “Where were we?” he asked. “Medical school,” I said, and giggled.

Jimmy looked confused. “What’s so funny?” I giggled again. “You look kind of funny.” I took a long sip of my punch, sighed, pointed at my glass and grinned. “This is so good.” This time my words sounded strange and had a hard time leaving my lips. “What’s wrong with you?” He eyed me quizzically and then took the glass from me. He sniffed it. Then he took a drink. His eyes went wide and flashed with anger. In a corner, a group of guys broke out in gut-wrenching laughter. Jimmy turned to look at them. “Assholes!” he shouted. He took a couple steps toward them and they scattered, running to do cannonballs in the pool. Jimmy returned to me. “Come on,” he said. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to my feet. I liked the way his arms felt around me as he held me up. I nuzzled my nose against his neck, moaning as I did. “Don’t do that,” he said. “Why?” I whispered in his ear. I felt tingly all over, as if I were floating. “Just don’t. You’re drunk.” “I am not,” I said, indignantly. “I’ve never touched alcohol in my whole life.” Then I giggled again. “Obviously,” he said. I ing Jennifer on our way in. I heard her and Jimmy talking but didn’t make much sense of the words until later. “What’s wrong with her?” Jennifer asked. “Someone spiked the punch,” Jimmy said. “Oh, God,” Jennifer said. “Is anyone else drunk?” “I didn’t notice.” Jennifer sighed. “I’d better dump it. My room’s the second on the left. Lay her down and let her sleep it off. If she goes home like that her dad’s likely to beat

her.” “She’ll be okay. I’ll stay with her awhile and make sure she’s okay.” We started to move up the stairs, but then we stopped. “Hey,” he called to Jennifer. She stopped and turned around. “Did you mean that when you said her dad would beat her?” “He’s a strong disciplinarian,” Jennifer said. I listened to all this going back and forth between the two of them, and all I could do was giggle. “I like being drunk; it’s fun,” I said. “You won’t like it so much tomorrow,” Jimmy said. “Better get her up there,” Jennifer said. When Jimmy laid me down on the bed, it began to move. “Oh, Jimmy—the bed’s moving!” He laughed. “It’s not the bed. It’s your head.” “Oh. Then my head’s moving,” I said and laughed hysterically—as if that were the funniest thing I’d ever heard. My laughter must have been contagious because Jimmy started laughing, too. “What’s so funny?” I asked. “You are,” he said, leaning over me. He was mere inches from me. “Jimmy,” I whispered. “What?” he asked throatily. “I’ve never been kissed before.” “Is that right?” “Yep,” I said. “Will you kiss me?” He groaned. “I’d better not.” I pouted. “Why not, Jimmy. Don’t you want to kiss me?”

“More than anything,” he said. Even as he said this, his mouth came closer. I could almost feel his lips on mine, and I willed our mouths to touch. “Please,” I said, and his mouth came down upon mine. I had never felt such a wonderful thing before, and as his mouth ground into mine, I felt a tingling feeling rush to my private areas and slide down to my feet. He pulled away, breathless, and stood over me. I licked my lips, trying to what his lips had tasted like, and then his mouth was on my throat, kissing it tenderly, licking it from my ear to the base, and then down my front until my shirt stopped him. He moved his hand up under my shirt, feeling my bra. He pushed my shirt over my head and threw it on the floor. Then my bra ed it. His mouth went back to my throat, taking up right where he had left off, and soon his lips were touching every part of my exposed body. I felt him unbutton my jeans, and the word “no” was right on the tip of my tongue, but it wouldn’t come out. I heard the zipper go down. “Do you want this?” he whispered. I was speechless. On one hand, I knew it was wrong. I was saving myself for marriage, but at that moment, it didn’t seem to matter. My mind said, “No,” but the words that came out of my mouth were, “Oh, yes, please Jimmy…I want it badly.” Before I knew it, he was lying on top of me and pushing his way inside. My eyes were getting so heavy and, oddly, his rhythmic movement inside me soothed me. I didn’t even feel the pain I’d always heard about. Then as quickly as the whole thing started, we were both groaning in one giant spasm, and it was over. I marveled at the feeling and wondered briefly, why anyone could think this was bad. Jimmy collapsed on top of me, and for one brief moment, I felt a pang of regret, until sleep overcame me. When I awoke, he was sitting on the floor, his back to the wall. My clothes were still on the floor, but he had pulled a blanket over me. He looked up and I saw sorrow in his eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know it was your first time.” I rolled on my side and looked at him. My head was throbbing, but I pushed aside the pain.

“I cleaned you up the best I could,” he said. I was at first puzzled by the comment, but then I ed reading somewhere that the first time could be somewhat messy. “Thank you,” I whispered. Without the alcoholic inhibitions, I was feeling kind of shy. I reached out to him. “Can you help me stand?” He was by my side in two seconds, putting his arm around my neck, helping me to a sitting position. My head swam as I swung my legs to the side of the bed. With Jimmy’s help, I made my way to the bathroom and shut the door, leaving him on the other side. I felt a sudden urge to vomit and ran to the toilet. After I threw up, I felt better. I looked in the mirror, but all I could see was a disheveled sixteen-year-old. I used the toilet and washed my face and hands, scrubbing off any trace of makeup. I rummaged through the drawers and found an unopened toothbrush, which I used, knowing Jennifer wouldn’t mind. Then I used her hairbrush and surveyed my efforts—not too bad. Mom and Dad might not notice. I opened the bathroom door. Jimmy was sitting on the bed holding my clothes. He began to hand me items, and I pulled them on. Just as I was pulling my shirt over my head, I felt sick to my stomach. I ran back into the bathroom and vomited again. Jimmy followed me this time. Kneeling down beside me, he gathered my long hair into a ponytail and held it. When I finished, he handed me a glass of water. “Feel better?” I nodded and smiled. “Thanks.” “Heck of a first date,” he said, grinning timidly. I tried to smile to reassure him, but I felt so much regret that I couldn’t pull it off. He cupped my chin and tilted my eyes toward his. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I honestly don’t make a habit of seducing drunken virgins.” I nodded but was afraid to say anything. The air was so heavy with loss that neither of us could think of any words to make the situation better. A knock on the door forced us both to jump apart. “It’s just me,” Jennifer said, as she entered the room and closed the door. She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose.

“Oh, Abby—you poor thing.” I was glad I had just puked—even though it was embarrassing—because it masked the odor of sex. “I’m fine now,” I lied. “You missed the cake, but I guess you don’t care about that.” I shook my head. “Anyway, I told Mother what happened. She kicked the guilty ones out and offered to call your mom and explain it.” At the panicked look on my face she said, “Don’t worry; I convinced her it was better to let it alone. She’s waiting to drive you home.” “I’ll take her,” Jimmy said. She looked first at Jimmy and then at me. “You too really bonded up here, huh?” Jimmy shrugged. “I just feel bad,” he said. “I’m the one who gave her all the punch.” “But you didn’t spike it,” I reminded him. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll take the ride.” I stood. “We’d better go before I’m missed.” We walked down the stairs together. Mrs. Brayton was standing at the bottom waiting. “Jimmy’s going to take her home,” Jennifer said. “He was nice enough to sit with her while she slept.” Mrs. Brayton smiled. “Thank you, Jimmy.” She looked at me. “I’m sorry this happened, Abby. I tried to be watchful but…” She sighed. “Things happen.” “It’s okay. At least now I know what being drunk is like…and I don’t like it,” I added. Everyone laughed. Mrs. Brayton kissed the top of my head, stroked my hair, and handed me a package. “For when you feel better.” I looked at it. “It’s cake,” she said. “Thanks,” I said, even though the thought of it made my stomach roll. She handed Jimmy a wrapped piece as well, which he accepted without a word. He drove slowly—prolonging the trip? Or out of concern for me? I gave him directions, asking him to pull over four houses away. He looked up at a dark

house. “This is where you live? It looks as if nobody’s home.” I pointed to my house, down the road. “That one,” I said, “The one with the white fence.” “Don’t you want me to take you all the way?” Then we both laughed at the pun. He blushed, and I said, “Bad choice of words.” “My parents didn’t want me to go to the party,” I reminded him. “I can’t let them see you drop me off.” “Oh,” he said. “I guess this would prove their point.” “Pretty much,” I said, pursing my lips. I started to open the door, but Jimmy stopped me. He got out of the car and opened the door for me. “I didn’t know guys still did that.” He winked. “I only do it for the really pretty ones.” I smiled and reached up to pull his mouth to mine. “Don’t let it keep you awake tonight; I’m okay.” “Really?” he asked, and I could tell he needed to hear my assurance. “Really.” “Can I call you?” he asked. I shook my head. “My dad would never allow it.” “How about email?” “Don’t have one. We don’t even own a computer. Well, my dad does, but he keeps it locked up.” He thought for a minute. “Come by the computer lab fourth period tomorrow. I’ll help you set one up.” I nodded. “I’ve got to go.” I ran off, looking behind me and waving every ten steps or so. Jimmy waved back. I scaled the trellis outside my window and

dropped inside. I stripped off my clothes, got into my nightgown, and climbed into bed. I fell asleep with the memory of Jimmy’s touch still on my skin.

Chapter Five

David

“Was that the night Grace was conceived?” I asked. “It’s the only time we were together,” she said. I sensed a sad despair fall over her, as if she had lost something precious. Years earlier I had suffered a loss so great it had completely altered my personality. I wondered how much Abby’s personality had changed. To break a horse you get on him repeatedly, persisting in letting him know who the boss is—until he finally gives in. Raising children is no different. If you go over the mark with them, you can crush them. Had Abby’s parents, in the guise of paternal love, crushed their daughter? I wrote the name Jimmy Martinez on a pad of paper. Then I wrote Waldorf High School next to it, with a big question mark next to it. I tore off the paper and gestured for Minerva to come near. She jumped and ran to my desk. I handed her the paper, tapping the words I had written. “Find him,” I mouthed. A light tapping came upon the door. Dan opened it and put his finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. A woman in a business suit stood there. She held out a card to him and started to speak, so Dan made the gesture again. Then he gestured toward me. He waved the woman inside and whispered to her, “Pastor David has someone on the phone. I’m not sure exactly what is happening but she is pretty upset. He asked us to call you.” I saw the woman and waved her over. She came to my side, giving me a business card with the name Betty Brighton written on it. I wrote on a notepad, briefly describing the situation while I listened to what Abby was saying. She nodded, and I wrote –we need to find out what happened to the boyfriend. Minerva is seeing what she can find out. Have Dan take you to her. She nodded again and left on Dan’s heels. I turned my attention back to Abby. “What happened between you and Jimmy?”

“Tragedy,” she said, and continued her story.

Abby

I felt awkward in church the next day; as if God knew what I had done and would throw me out of the sanctuary—forbidding me His grace. I knew that wasn’t true, though, so I prayed for forgiveness instead. Mom was pleased that I was praying extra hard that day—so happy, in fact, that she treated us all to lunch and ice cream afterward. For a while, sitting at that restaurant and talking about the sermon—Mom always drilled us afterward, just to make sure we had listened—we almost felt like a normal family. I even was able to take my mind off what had happened the previous day. I had wanted to save myself, but what happened had happened and I couldn’t change it. I had read somewhere that a girl could re-pledge herself to purity, and it would be as if it hadn’t happened, in God’s eyes anyway. I made that vow—silently, between God and me—while we were at the restaurant. Gabby told us about the big softball tournament coming up. She was pitching and quite nervous about it. Mom and I promised to be there, but Dad said it was tax season and he probably wouldn’t be able to make it—quite typical of him. Next month he would use the excuse that many of his clients were closing their year-end books. It was always something. I was still feeling a little queasy from the alcohol, so I just picked at my food. My mother gave me a sour look, which I knew well—eating out is expensive, stop being picky. I picked up my fork and forced myself to eat. After lunch, we went to the Christian bookstore to get Dad a new reference book for a Bible study he was going to lead. Mom complained about them being open on the Sabbath, and I held my snickers to myself. Every time we went somewhere on Sunday Mom complained, yet here we were shopping on the Sabbath. I didn’t get it.

I asked Mom if I had earned enough allowance to get something. “It depends on how much it costs,” she said. “Ten dollars or so should be okay. Just make sure it isn’t something frivolous.” I wandered off to explore. I knew I could get a CD. “Music is pleasing to the Lord,” she would say, but I didn’t want a CD. I could get a tee shirt with a Christian slogan on it, but I was already teased enough as it was. Books were a possibility. I made my way to the bookrack—lots to choose from there. I picked up a book on Christian dating and cringed. I was pretty sure getting drunk at a party and losing your virginity wasn’t in there. I put it back. My Bible was starting to be a little worn around the edges, but I would most likely get a new one for Christmas or my birthday, so I wasn’t going to waste my allowance on it. To the right of the books was jewelry—lots and lots of jewelry. A particular display caught my attention. I reached out and picked up a ring from the display. The advertising slogan on the poster read Remind yourself and others that you have decided to remain pure. “That’s a good choice,” my mother said, sneaking up behind me. I jumped. “You scared me.” Mom placed both hands on my shoulders. “I’m proud of you for choosing this way.” The comment cut through my heart and made me want to cry. I reminded myself that this decision was mine to make and was between God and me—even though Mother felt differently. “This one is the prettiest,” she said, reaching past me to pick up a ring. She handed it to me. “Good way to spend your money.” She walked away and I could do nothing else but follow. At school the next day, I looked everywhere for Jimmy. I couldn’t find him. Right before fourth period, which happened to be our lunch break, I blew off Jennifer with some lame excuse about talking to Mrs. Perry about a catering assignment the cooking class was working on, and headed instead for the computer lab. I felt bad about lying to Jennifer and added it to the tally of transgressions I owed God. Jimmy was waiting outside the door. He brightened when he saw me. “You made

it.” I raised my hands and shrugged. “Here I am.” We both stood there, neither of us knowing what to say or do. Finally, awkwardly, he bent down and kissed me lightly on the lips. The feather light softness sent a thrill down my spine, making me tingle with anticipation. I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. It took a few seconds to bring me back to earth. Then I smiled encouragingly. “Is that okay?” he asked. I nodded, confused about what it meant, though. He opened the door and led me inside. “Mr. Green,” he called, looking for the computer teacher. “Will we get in trouble for this?” He shook his head. “Mr. Green knows me. I hang out in here a lot.” He selected a computer and turned it on. I didn’t know the first thing about computers. While computer lab was part of the curriculum here at Waldorf High School, it was not required for graduation. My father insisted I take Home Economics instead. “A computer is not going to feed your family,” he had said. I didn’t pursue the issue. I could make a mean Baked Alaska, though. Jimmy made me sit in the chair while he stood behind me. Put your hand on the mouse. “Mouse?” I asked. “Geez,” he said. “Have you ever turned on a computer before?” “No,” I said, matter-of-factly. He picked up my hand and placed it on the mouse. His touch was so soft it made me moan. We looked at each other. His eyes were dark and smoky, and I swore I could swim in them. Then his finger touched my purity ring, breaking the spell. He gasped. “Oh, God, Abby—I didn’t know,” he said. “I feel so bad.” “You know what this is?” I asked, surprised.

“All the guys know,” he said. “It’s what tells us who’s available.” He blushed. “That didn’t sound right. What I meant is…” “I know what you meant,” I said, a sharp prick to my tone. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get on with the email.” He stared at me, and I could tell he wanted to say something but was reluctant. He ended up dropping it and began our computer lesson. By the time lunch was over, I was hungry and slightly computer literate. “I have a surprise for you after school,” he said. I looked at him. “A surprise? Why?” I asked. “Do you think you owe me something for Saturday night?” I could tell from the stricken look on his face I was way off mark. I softened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” “You did, but I understand.” The bell rang. Any minute kids would come pouring into the classroom. He picked up both my hands and looked at me. He bent and kissed me quickly. “After school then. Meet me at my car.” “My mother will be waiting for me.” “I’ll make it quick.” “Okay.” We walked out of the lab together, talking as if we were just two students who happened to bump into each other. I barely made it through French class, and then it was on to History. I could care less when the Boston Tea Party took place and ended up spacing out of the lecture. It seemed I had just sat down when the bell rang, signaling an end to the day. I wondered if it really was possible to sleep with one’s eyes open. I rushed to the parking lot. I suddenly realized Jimmy had not told me where he’d parked. I was scanning the lot, shading my eyes with my hand, when I saw him waving. I dashed over, breathless. “I was getting worried,” he said. “I thought you changed your mind.” I shook my head. “Hurry,” I said. “Mother won’t wait long before she comes looking.” He took something out of his trunk and handed it to me. “What is it?” I asked.

He grinned. “It’s a laptop.” “What’s it for?” “So we can email.” I handed it back to him. “I can’t accept this.” He pushed it back toward me. “Sure you can.” “I don’t even know how to use it.” “Just plug it in and turn it on.” I tried to give it back again, but he held his hands up and backed away, refusing to take it. “You don’t have time to argue; your mother’s waiting.” I knew he had me. “How do I connect to the internet?” “Your dad probably has wireless, but if not you can search for a connection from a neighbor. Or, you can go somewhere like the library or Starbucks.” I hesitated. “Go,” he urged, “before you get in trouble.” He helped me stuff it into my backpack and I took off on a run. When I got to the designated pickup zone, I could see my mother impatiently checking her watch. I slid into the seat beside her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t understand the homework assignment and had to stay behind to have it explained.” My mother bought the lie and put the car in gear. If I were Catholic, I’d be singing Hail Mary. As it was, God was nagging at my conscience. Gabby and I used to share a bedroom, but my mother got tired of us arguing over whose stuff was making such a mess and split us up. I hadn’t been happy about it at the time; I adored my little sister and liked spending time with her—not to mention she stayed the loneliness I often felt. Today, however, I couldn’t be happier about the split. I stopped in the kitchen for a quick glass of lemonade and a handful of cookies. “I’ll be in my room studying,” I called out as I ran for my room. I tore open my backpack and pulled out the laptop. It was beautiful, bright pink, small enough to conceal in compact spaces, yet large enough so as not to be awkward. It said VAIO on the cover, but that didn’t mean a thing to me. I caressed it as I would a

soft kitten. I looked it over. When I opened it, I could tell it was brand new. This surprised me. I had thought he was probably giving me an old one he had lying around, but this blew me away; he barely knew me. Then a horrible thought struck me—was this really payment for Saturday night? I could feel myself flush with anger. I thought about throwing it across the room, but I didn’t; even I knew the value of a dollar and the importance of not wasting them. Besides, I really didn’t think Jimmy would be that crude. I opened the computer and plugged it in. The Windows logo went through its startup process and soon I was staring at a working computer. I checked for an internet connection, as per Jimmy’s instructions. I found a wireless connection for someone with a name of stein and knew it must be my dad. I clicked on it and it asked me for a . I pursed my lips in a frown. I got off the bed, hid the computer under it, and tiptoed downstairs toward my father’s office. I needed to know where my mother was, so I went to the place she would most likely be—the kitchen. Sure enough, she was perched on a bar stool at the breakfast counter talking about some scripture verse, and how it pertained to the daily ritual of raising unruly children. She was laughing and having fun, so I knew she would be there awhile. I stole to my father’s office and knocked. I had heard him tell Mother he’d be at a seminar all day, but you never know what could happen. When I didn’t receive an answer, I opened the door and went inside. My father was a meticulous man, so I knew right where to go—his rolodex. I looked under P for s, but I was disappointed. The only card I found under P held the various names and numbers of people from his prayer group. I tried to think in the manner of my father. What would he call it? He wouldn’t just put it under , he would add the adjective. I looked under C for computer but didn’t find it. Okay, think, Abby, I told myself. What is the for? Well, of course it’s to secure information. I looked under S for security and there it was—a sweet little card with several bunches of capital letters lined in rows, all beginning with a different capital letter and having a series of letters or numbers, sometimes both, written after it. C would most likely be for the computer. But I didn’t care ing his computer, so I continued scanning the entries. Then I changed my mind. Even though I doubted C was it, I noted the , Rosalie27. Then I noticed the entry beginning with I…for internet? The for this was GabbygirlNMBR1. I jotted down this

, too. Confident one of the two s would work. I returned the cards to the exact same spot he had left them open to before and left the office, looking both ways before I exited—in case my mother was around. I could still hear her laughing on the phone. I went upstairs and retrieved the computer from under the bed. Typing in the name Rosalie27 when prompted brought back an “incorrect ” error message. I wasn’t surprised by this. GabbygirlNMBR1 worked like a charm. Although I tried not to think about what the NMBR1 meant. As soon as I connected to the internet, a message popped up that told me I had new mail. I clicked on the yes button that asked if I wanted to read it. I typed in the Jimmy had given me. A message from him popped up in front of my eyes. To my friend, Abby: Congratulations on your first computer—no strings attached—and I mean that! Happy web surfing. I smiled, feeling foolish for my earlier suspicions. I played around with various sights, giggling as I surveyed the frenzy of information available to me. Then I opened the email from Jimmy again and responded to it. Me: I love it. Thanks, Jimmy. See you around. A reply came right back and I squealed in delight. Jimmy: Hey, I see you cracked the security code—good job! And you’re welcome for the computer. I have a question about the purity thing. Can you explain the significance? Why is it so important? I thought about the question for a minute, wanting to pose my answer just right. Me: Sex is a gift God gives us that is reserved for the marital relationship. It distinguishes normal dating from the special bond of marriage. If we run around having sex with just anybody, where’s the specialness in marriage? I hit send and waited patiently for the response. It didn’t come right away, but then it popped up. I sighed in relief, having thought I might have scared him off.

Jimmy: I’m sorry I took that from you. I feel like a crud. Me: It’s not your fault—I clearly said, “Yes”. Jimmy: You were drunk. I took advantage of that. Me: It’s okay. It’s done—let’s move on. I’m not angry. Jimmy: Whew. Can you explain why you still wear the purity ring—after Saturday? I had to think carefully about how to answer that one. Even though Mother had practically forced the ring on me, I’d like to think what had happened with Jimmy might not have happened if I’d been wearing it at the time. Even Jimmy had said all the guys knew what it meant. Me: It’s never too late to make the pledge. I bought the ring on Sunday—as a reminder of my commitment, so I’m not tempted to stray again. I have to go. I hear my mom coming. I logged off and barely had time to stash the computer before Mother opened the door. “What’s going on?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me and scanning the room, as if I might be committing the biggest crime of the century. Did she think so little of me that she thought I must always be doing something wrong? “Just cleaning up,” I said, not really lying. My mother stared at me for several moments, sizing me up—trying to decide whether to believe me. I had been acting strangely for two days now. I’m sure Mother’s senses told her something was wrong. “Time for dinner,” she said. I collapsed on the bed as the door closed. I rolled onto my back, thinking, that was close. I would have to limit my computer usage to safer times, I decided.

Jimmy was waiting for me at my locker the next day. I smiled politely and accepted the light kiss he offered. “Look what I got,” he said, holding his hand up for inspection. I frowned and shook my head. “A purity ring, Jimmy? You didn’t have to do that, you have no reason to impress me.” In my head I added, you already took me to bed. “I know, but what you said made sense.” I studied him. He could be telling the truth, I decided. “Really?” “Yeah man.” “You’re really going to save yourself for marriage from here on out?” “I’m going to try.” I was having difficulty believing him. “Even if the hottest girl in school tears off her clothes and throws herself at you?” He grinned. “I’m really going to try.” I grinned back. “Now that’s a commitment,” I said, sarcastically. “I can do it,” he protested. At my expression of skepticism he said, “You don’t think I can do it.” “I have my doubts,” I said. “Jimmy Martinez does everything he puts his mind to.” He left for class then, leaving me grinning until I saw him disappear around a corner. After that, we met every day at my locker for lunch. It wasn’t much time together, but it was better than nothing. Some of the kids started commenting on us—teasing us and stuff. One day, I was putting books in my locker when Jennifer came up to me. She leaned against the next-door locker and cocked her head at me, the biggest grin ever plastered on her face. She said, “For once in your life you’re the subject of gossip.”

“Oh,” I said. “Why is that?” Jennifer laughed. “Don’t play coy with me,” she said. “I have eyes just like everyone else.” She picked up my finger and stabbed at my ring. “Is this still true?” I snatched my hand from hers. “Of course it’s still true.” I snapped. I could feel a cold shudder begin to rise to the surface—my trademark lie symbol—and tried, without success, to push it down. Jennifer’s mouth opened in surprise. “Abby Stein, you little liar,” she said. “So what,” I said. “It was a huge mistake.” “When did it…” She broke off as the truth came full force and hit her in the brain. “Ew! On my bed?” she asked. I winced. “Sorry.” “That’s it. You’re going to the mall with me to buy new bedding.” “I can’t,” I said. “Why not.” I looked at her like she was from the moon or something. “You know my mother.” Jennifer took out her phone and dialed my home number. “Hello, Mrs. Stein. This is Jennifer Brayton, Abby’s friend—well thank you, I had a wonderful birthday,” she said after a pause. “I’m calling because Abby spilled punch all over my new sweater, and I’m wondering if she can accompany me to the mall this afternoon to help me pick out a new one—she can, great—no it’s not necessary for her to pay for it, I just want her help choosing a new one.” She snapped shut the phone. “That’s how it’s done,” she said smugly. She walked off and I ran to catch up. I wondered if God would still consider it lying if someone else did the lying for you.

Chapter Six

David

I recognized the beginnings of young love, and I saw where this story was going. My heart went out to them. My own experience with young love had ended tragically. My high school sweetheart, and love of my life, was taken from me in a freak accident, in a car that I had been driving. The accident happened on the night of our senior prom. We both had been excited about our future, were looking forward to graduation, college together, then marriage, and eventually children. Kathy and her mother had been in an argument right before the prom—not a big one, just a slight one, but it was enough to put a damper on Kathy having fun. She couldn’t concentrate on anything but that argument. She needed to apologize to her mother, and she wanted to do it in person. Therefore, I agreed to take her home. On the way to her house, a stray electrical wire had fallen from a power line and ironically struck Kathy. When she died, she had taken a piece of me with her, leaving behind only memories and guilt. I wondered what it was about this couple that reminded me of Kathy so much. “Pastor David?” “Yes,” I said not realizing my mind had wandered so much. “I have to pee badly.” My heart began to race at the prospect of coming face-to-face with Abby. “There are bathrooms in here,” I said. “Are there any in another part of the building?” “There are, Abby, but I will have to have it opened up.” I was dying for a bathroom break myself, and I wanted a moment to confer in private with the social worker. “It will take about ten minutes,” I said. “Is that okay?” She hesitated for a moment and then, “You’re not trying to trick me are you? I

really hate hypocrites and liars.” I cringed at her tone. I knew I had to tread lightly, but I also knew this was beyond my help. “No tricks, Abby. You’re calling the shots.” “Okay,” she said. “If you look to your right you’ll see a light green building. Do you see it, Abby?” “I see it,” she said. “The bathroom’s in there. In ten minutes, it will be open. You go ahead and go on in. Nobody will bother you. You have my word.” I set down the phone and turned toward Dan. “Wait ten minutes and then go and open the girls’ bathroom at the end of the education wing.” He nodded. I made a stop in the bathroom and then after greeting her properly took Betty Brighton into my office and shut the door. “Tell me what the situation is,” she said before the door even had fully closed. “I’ve got a young woman on the phone that is in a desperate situation. I’m still getting the gist of her story, but so far I’ve determined she’s young, she has a new baby, and is angry with her parents over something. I’m getting the feeling they’ve forced her into doing something she isn’t ready to do.” She pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. I reached over and gently took it from her. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I’m calling for backup—which is procedure,” she said. I could hear her crisp skirt rustle as she leaned forward and thrust out her hand for her phone. I got the feeling this was a by the book social worker, and I wasn’t sure this settled well with me. Her tone was nonchalant, as if this type of situation were commonplace. “I’d rather you didn’t,” I said. I moved her phone farther away from her, showing her I was in charge. “She’s starting to trust me; I can feel it. If I shatter it now there’s no telling what she might do. She claims to be suicidal, but I’m sensing she’s looking for a different kind of help.” I handed the phone back to

her and she shut it. Pausing only a moment to consider, she put it back in her pocketbook. “What is your plan?” “Keep her talking. The more she talks the less desperate her situation will seem.” “What about the baby?” “I think she’ll be fine. It’s a little chilly, but far from freezing. I’m betting Abby is trying her hardest to be a good mother. I’m sure she has everything she needs for her.” “What can I do to help?” she asked. “Stay close. I may need advice. I can be an instrument for God, but not the state.” We walked back to the office together. I picked up the telephone. “Abby, are you there?” I heard some rustling, a few bounces of the phone, and then, “I’m here.” “Are you feeling more comfortable now?” “Yeah,” she said. “Way better now.” “Are you hungry, Abby? I can get you some food.” “Pastor David?” “Yes, Abby? What is it?” “I saw some people moving around up there. I thought you said you were alone.” I panicked. To lie to her would mean breaking an oath, not to mention her obvious aversion to liars. “I’m not going to lie to you, Abby—I know how much you hate that. I’m not alone, Abby—but when I told you I was it was the truth. These people came afterward. But this is between you and me, Abby. They can’t hear what you’re telling me.” I heard her sigh, and my heartbeat quickened. Was that a sigh of frustration or surrender? “I have someone here who can help,

Abby. If you want it, but I’ll only tell her what you want her to know.” The line was silent, and for a minute, I had the urge to storm the parking lot. Then I heard Grace begin to cry, and I heard Abby’s soothing voice singing her a lullaby. Tears filled my eyes, and I reached into my back pocket and extracted a handkerchief. With all the tenderness in her words, there was no way anyone could convince me she did not love her child. When the singing stopped I said, “That was beautiful, Abby. I’ve never heard the lullaby before.” “I made it up just for Grace,” she said. “You obviously love her very much, Abby. Don’t you want to see her grow up?” She scoffed. “In my household? She doesn’t stand a ghost of a chance at a normal life.” “How so,” I asked. “Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled,” she said. I recognized the age from Titus. “Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself, just as he is pure,” I said in return. “That’s from first John,” she said. “It is,” I said. “You are not a sinner, Abby,” I said. “You simply made a wrong choice.” “Says you,” she said. I could hear the sadness in her voice, which quickly turned bitter. “But you don’t have to live in my house.” I sensed a severity in the treatment of this unwed, pregnant teen and asked, “How bad was it, Abby?” Even as I asked the question, my heart filled with dread.

Abby

I spent the first week of my prison sentence in solitary confinement. There was a closet underneath the stairs that was empty, except for a few linens and some discarded cans. This was to be my home for seven days. It had a chair in it, an overhead light, the linens and cans I previously mentioned, a foam mat, pillow, and a blanket—specifically placed there for my use. When my mother first told me to follow her downstairs, I did so with trepidation. Each step I descended brought another thump of my heart, each one growing louder. I reached the bottom and saw my mother standing by the door, holding it open for me as if we were shopping and she was telling me to step ahead of her. I peered inside. A look of confusion crossed my face. “You want me to go in there?” “It’s where you’ll spend your spiritual cleansing time.” “My what?” I asked. If I thought my heart thumped loudly descending the stairs, it was nothing compared to what it was doing right then. Judging from the smirk on Mother’s face, I’d swear she was enjoying it. “Your father and I think you need some time to yourself to think over what you have done wrong.” “I know what I’ve done!” I exclaimed. “Mother, don’t do this to me.” I would have liked to say, “Take away my TV, my phone, my video games, my computer…” But I didn’t have any of those things to offer up. They were instruments of distraction and were not to be used by teenagers in our home. Instead, I said, “How long?” “A week should do it,” Mother said, a smug look of satisfaction on her face. “That’s the recommended time for spiritual cleansing.” “A week! What about school?” “I’ll report your absence to the school and get your homework for you. In the meantime, there is plenty of reading material in there. Now get,” she

commanded. I shook my head and sighed. It was certainly not going to do me any good to argue, and it was likely to earn me additional time. I made my way inside and heard the bolt slide shut. The closet went dark. I reached up and pulled on the chain that would turn on the bulb. I looked around. It was a large closet, I had to it, and Mother had packed some food to eat—the bare minimum allowed a prisoner—and yes, plenty of reading materials—assuming one liked twenty different versions of the Bible. I crossed my arms over my chest and stood with my back against the door. I stared down at those Bibles and refused to touch them. My legs soon grew weary, so I sat down. Time seemed to slip away quickly and I thought, a week isn’t that bad. Then, as quickly as I thought this, the boredom began to seep in. I picked up one of the Bibles. There were multiple ages marked, each one pertaining to either obedience or purity. It didn’t take an Einstein to figure out I was supposed to read them. I cast aside the book but soon grew bored again and picked it back up. I ignored the marked ages and began to read the book from the beginning…In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth… I was halfway through Leviticus when Mother came to let me out to use the bathroom and stretch my legs. At least my warden had some sympathy for me. “Will I be ing the family for dinner?” I asked. “Most certainly not,” Mother snipped. “You are in solitary confinement, after all.” I used the facility, did some jumping jacks for emphasis, which caused an eyeroll from my mother, and then I was led back to the closet, which I had named— Stein Penitentiary. I picked up my reading where I had left off. I had no way of telling time, but I knew it was growing late because my eyes grew weary. Just as my head began to bob with sleep, I heard a scratching on the door. I looked down and saw something sliding under the door. First, a flat piece of white appeared that looked like a piece of paper. I noted it was a napkin. Then a round, brown, plump thing appeared. I realized with delight that it was a chocolate chip cookie.

I smiled, wondering who my benefactor was. I had a pretty good idea. No other sound came and no additional treat, but the sheer joy of that one little cookie after enduring my long day in isolation was enough to give me hope. The next day was easier as I knew what to expect. Mother let me out around six am to use the facility and shower—for which I took as long as I could get away with. Freshly bathed, and cleanly clothed, she returned me to my closet. Breakfast was a single bowl of oatmeal with a little milk and honey. As I loved oatmeal, this was not a punishment for me. After devouring my meal, I picked up the Bible and began to read again. I had a goal to get through Deuteronomy by nighttime and knew I’d need to get started. I read quickly, scanning the parts I felt were important and devouring the parts that held my interest. I had not realized how fascinating the Bible could be and marveled at how many people would be considered, “low-life transients” by today’s standards. This got me thinking about our local homeless shelter and wondering how today’s homeless compared to lepers and thieves of Biblical times. Mother had once taken Gabby and me with her to work one of her shifts at the shelter. I was about nine or ten at the time, so Gabby must have been fairly small. Anyway, I was scared and wanted to go home, but Mother said she wanted to teach us a lesson about appreciating the things for which we should be grateful. I could imagine my experience must be what homeless children feel like. At lunchtime, Mother let me out again and waited impatiently with a grilled cheese sandwich in hand for me to return from the facilities. After I finished eating, Mother handed me a stack of schoolbooks. “I expect all your lessons to be finished by six pm,” she said sharply. I took the schoolbooks and headed back to the penitentiary. I cringed when the lock slid into place. What would I do if a fire broke out in the house—burn to death? I sighed and took my seat again. I looked down at my books. Literature, Spanish, History, and Calculus books stared up at me. I sighed and tossed the Calculus aside; I wouldn’t be able to do that without help. I only hoped my teacher would let me make up the work. Then, ing Mother’s warning about being done by 6pm, I added the Calculus book back to the stack. I could at

least attempt it. Mother would never know if the answers were correct or not. At two-thirty pm, Mother came and let me out. I was halfway through my lessons and, if I hadn’t known better, I would swear Mother had a look of contempt on her face—as if she wanted me to fail the timeline. “I’ll be finished by six,” I told her—a smug tone to my voice. I prepared for a backhand—which was the established form of punishment for a smart mouth. Mother didn’t answer me, which I supposed was her way of avoiding defeat. I used the bathroom, got a drink of iced water, and returned to the dungeon. I tackled Calculus last, and to my surprise, without all the distractions, I was able to do the lesson and understand it. I felt a sense of pride and wished with all my heart that Mother did understand the work and would know I had successfully completed the assignment. With all the work done, I picked up my Bible again and continued my reading. I was currently reading Esther and completely enthralled with the subject. I marveled at what a brave woman she had been. Absently, I rubbed my abdomen, where a miniscule creature lay forming with each ing moment. Could I be as brave as Esther was if forced to care for the baby alone? I thought about Jimmy, realizing I didn’t really know that much about him. I rubbed my finger over the purity ring I wore and smiled as I ed the day Jimmy had shown me his. Jimmy and I both wanted to go to medical school—that would take a lot of time and money. I didn’t know a thing about Jimmy’s parents, but I knew mine would never pay for that much education. I would be lucky to get an undergraduate degree out of them. This being my second day in captivity, I wondered if Jimmy was worried. Surely by now, he would have sent several emails. Would he be concerned about why I hadn’t gotten back to him? What would he do after four or five days? I didn’t need to wait five—or even four days to find out. Just before bedtime, Gaby slipped a note under the door, followed by another cookie. I snatched both items, shoved the cookie into my mouth, and read the note. A boy called for you today. Mother answered the phone and started screaming at him. I’ve never seen her so angry in all my life. She called him the Devil’s Spawn

and told him never to call again. Then she threw a bowl of fruit across the room, and it shattered into a million pieces. I had to clean it up. You’re lucky I love you so much. She finished the last line with a smiling face, with Gabby’s typical, drawn facial features of a set of eyelashes and pink rosy cheeks. I grinned wide. Gabby’s efforts to keep me informed touched me, but I also feared what might happen to her if she got caught. The next morning I woke early, needing to use the bathroom. I could only guess at the time but figured it must be around five am or so. Mother wouldn’t be down for another hour to let me out. Then I ed by sister’s room was directly above the closet. I looked around for something long that I might use to bang on the ceiling. My heart sank when I discovered nothing. There were some cans in here. Perhaps I could throw them against the ceiling. I picked one up and looked at it—flat base white paint. Overcome with a sudden vision of white paint all over the room, not to mention myself, I set down the can and selected another. This one required opening with a can opener. It should do. I took aim, and with all my might flung the can at the ceiling. I ducked, fully expecting the can to crash back down upon my head. I should have protected my feet instead because when the can came back down, it landed across the top of my foot, slicing it open. I grabbed the napkin left over from the previous night’s after-dinner snack and tried to staunch the flow of blood. However, it didn’t take long for the napkin to become soaked. I had nothing else in the closet that would soak it up, except the shirt I was wearing. I pulled it over my head and pressed it against the gaping wound. Alerted by either my screams or the can, I’m not sure which, my sister opened the door and stared wide-eyed at me. “What happened to you?” she asked. I frowned. “Get Mother,” I said, clenching my teeth against the pain. “I think I’m going to need stitches.” Gabby nodded and ran off to find my mother. When she came to the closet, rubbing sleep from her eyes, she didn’t even question the opened door. She saw the state my foot was in and frowned. “How…” she began to ask, but then said, “never mind; it doesn’t matter.” She took off the shirt and looked at the gash. “It

needs stitches,” she said. I rolled my eyes in a duh fashion. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said. “Badly,” I added. “Hang on a minute.” She left and came back with a roll of gauze and some white tape, which she used to wrap my foot. “Go ahead,” she said. “But don’t put pressure on the foot.” I hobbled to the bathroom and sighed with relief when I made it to the toilet without peeing all over myself. I finished peeing and was turning to hobble to the sink to wash my hands when I was hit by a severe wave of nausea. I dropped beside the toilet, barely making it in time for my vomit to splash inside. My mother pounded on the other side of the door. “Hurry up in there.” I sank back against the wall, exhausted from the act of vomiting. My mother knocked again. I managed to pull myself to my feet, ran cold water in the sink and washed my face. When I opened the door, Mother was standing with her purse slung over one shoulder and her car keys dangling from her hand. She bore her entire weight on one hip, and her expression was one of impatience. “It’s about time,” she said. “Just how long does it take a girl to pee?” I stared at her with a shocked expression on my face. My foot throbbed from the gash, and now I got to add morning sickness to the mix. I was truly a mess. I looked down and noted the bleeding seeping through the layers of gauze. My mother followed my gaze and sighed. “Let’s go. You have an appointment with Dr. Silverman in one hour.” I was pleased Dr. Silverman’s clinic had early morning appointments because I sure didn’t feel like sitting in an emergency room right then. She turned, not bothering to ask if I needed any help maneuvering the stairs. I turned and sat on the bottom step. Using my butt and my good foot, I managed to push myself up to the main floor. Mother was busy turning off lights and took no notice of me crawling to the front door. What I would do from there I had no idea—hop I supposed.

She gave Gabby instructions for preparing father’s breakfast and walked out the front door. Mother didn’t say a word on the way to the doctor, nor did she speak in the doctor’s waiting room—except of course to the receptionist who took down my name so the nurse would know I was there. A moment of silence can seem like an eternity if it’s in the presence of revulsion, and I clearly revolted my mother at the present moment. The nurse finally called my name. I stood, wobbled a little, and then pondered the question of how I was to get to the examination room. A parking attendant had escorted me from the parking lot with a wheelchair, but then he had taken the chair back with him. My mother continued reading her magazine, hardly lifting her gaze. “Hold on a minute, sweetie,” the nurse said and left to return a moment later with another blessed wheelchair. She helped me sit in it and began pushing me back toward the room. Then my mother stood and followed. I wished with all my might for my mother to be barred from the exam room. As if reading my mind, Diane, the doctor’s nurse, turned. “It’s okay, Mrs. Stein; you can wait here. The doctor’s just going to suture it.” “Abigail’s a minor,” my mother reminded us. “Of course I’ll be present for any examination.” I don’t know who flushed more—me from embarrassment or Diane from anger. Nevertheless, my mother followed the wheelchair through the door and into the examination room. “How did this happen?” Diane asked. I opened my mouth to speak, but Mother beat me to the punch. “Clumsy girl dropped a can on her foot.” Diane looked at me as she fit the blood pressure cuff over my arm. “Is that what happened, Abby?” I wanted to scream the truth, but one look at my mother’s face told me what the outcome of that would be. Diane raised an eyebrow at me. “Abby?”

I nodded. “Something like that,” I said. Diane listened to my blood pressure and frowned. “A little bit high today,” she said. “Anything different going on in your life?” My mother laughed. “Go ahead, Abigail. Tell her what you’ve been up to.” I clamped my mouth shut. My lips pursed into a slim line as I blinked back tears. Diane took on a look of pity, which only made it worse. I didn’t need Diane to tell me my blood pressure had risen; I could feel it in my pounding heart. “She’s waiting,” Mother said. “Please, Mom,” I begged, “not now.” Diane ripped the cuff from my arm. She locked eyes with me. “It doesn’t matter, Abby.” Then she turned to my mother. “Whatever it is,” she said. “It’s none of my business.” She walked toward the door. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re ready.” When the door closed, I let out my frustration. “Please, Mother. Do you have to embarrass me so much?” “Oh, Abigail, my dear—if you think this is embarrassment, wait until you give birth. They will poke and prod you until you can’t stand it anymore.” I felt the blood rush through my ears. A feeling of dread rose up in me, right along with the bile from my stomach. Mother was quick on her feet and grabbed an emesis basin, just in time. Dr. Silverman entered the office just as Mother was rinsing the basin. I was wiping my mouth with a tissue she had given me. “Well now, Abby, what did you do this time?” he teased. His mouth turned into a serious grin when I did not return his cheerful cajoling. “Are you sick?” he asked, consulting my chart. “I thought you hurt your foot.” “Both, I’m afraid,” I said quickly, before my Mother could get in a jab. “Oh, dear,” he said. “That’s terrible. What do you want me to look at first?”

“Just my foot, Dr. Silverman,” I said. “I need stitches.” He unwrapped the foot and grimaced. “That’s a good one, Abby. I haven’t seen you for an injury this bad since you broke your arm in the soccer tournament last fall.” I managed a smile. “I’ve been lying kind of low,” I teased. I felt a bit of the familiarity returning and my spirits lifted slightly. Dr. Silverman had been my doctor my entire life and our relationship was easy going, if not humorous at times. I liked him, a lot. “Been saving it up for a big one?” Dr. Silverman joked. My mother made some sarcastic noise and we both looked her way. I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah, you know me—anything for attention.” He laughed and continued his examination of my foot. “Well, the bleeding has stopped,” he said. “The cut is pretty deep, though. Five or so stitches ought to do it. You’re going to need to stay off your feet for a couple days. Can you handle that?” I laughed hysterically and my mother shot me a warning glance. When I finally managed to bring my laughter to a chuckle, I said, “Sure, no problem.” He stitched up my foot and I tried not to flinch as much as possible. Diane stood by, handing him instruments as he called for them. Periodically, he would glance between Diane and me. I wondered if they had consulted each other in the place where doctors and nurses talked about problem patients, like me. When he finished, he stood back, iring his handiwork as if it were a piece of art on display at an auction. “Not bad, if I do say so myself,” he said. I chuckled. “Now, how about the vomiting, can I help out with that?” I blushed and my mother stood and walked to stand beside me. She threw back her shoulders in her crisp pose she got when she was self-righteous. “I’m afraid nobody can help with that,” she said. She lowered her voice, as if we were in some large place where like a gazillion people could hear us. God, forgive me for embarrassing her so…geez. “I’m afraid our little Abigail has got herself in a bit of a delicate situation.”

As I previously mentioned, I have known Dr. Silverman all my life. He was in the delivery room when I was born, and he has tenderly istered to every scrape, bruise, broken bone, bloody nose, and earache I’ve ever had. He even held my hand as the surgeon cut out my tonsils when I was six. Nothing could have prepared me for the look of shock on his face when he realized what my mother was saying. “Well,” he said. “I don’t know what to say to that.” You could say nothing, I thought to myself. But to him I said, “Yes, I’m afraid I’ve disappointed just about everyone important in my life, may as well add you to the list.” My retort was hard and I instantly felt sorry for the words. The spirit drained out of me, and I saw Dr. Silverman’s expression change from one of shock to empathy. “What do you plan to do about this?” He addressed this question to me, but my mother answered. “She’ll wear her shame like the harlot she is,” she said pugnaciously. I was not about to take her bait, but Dr. Silverman didn’t have to live with her every day. “I was talking to Abby,” he said, and I noted the anger in his eyes. “In fact,” he continued, looking Mother straight in the eye, “I think I would like to talk with my patient in private.” I was shocked and mother shook her head. “I dare say, no!” She stood straighter, if that were possible, and defiantly stuck out her chin. “Abby’s a minor and I insist on being with her during her exam.” “The rules are different in this case,” he said. “Young girls are allowed a certain amount of discretion in matters such as these. In other words—Abby gets to choose what she wants to do about this, and she’s allowed private health care.” To my surprise, he walked over to Mother, lifted her arm gently and escorted her, protesting, to the door. “But—” she tried, but the shutting of the door cut off her words. I grinned but hid it quickly when Dr. Silverman turned around. “Now,” he continued. “What were we talking about? Oh yes, we were discussing your,” he made finger quotes, “‘delicate situation,’ weren’t we?”

I couldn’t help it, I busted up, hysterically laughing until I had Dr. Silverman laughing along with me. The naughty side of me hoped Mother could hear on the other side of the door. When we both had sobered, I said. “What are my options?” Dr. Silverman grew serious. “I’m assuming it’s still early—you could consider an abortion.” He said this so matter-of-factly that for only a brief moment it seemed to be the answer to everything. Then I saw in my mind’s eye pictures of babies I had seen that had been mutilated into unrecognizable creatures. These, of course, had been from what I had heard to be late-term abortions. The pictures had been plastered, large as life, onto picket signs the prolife people, who had picketed the abortion clinic next to the Speedy Mart, had carried. My little baby wasn’t nearly that big yet, but still… I ed. In a rush I said, “I don’t believe in abortion.” He nodded. “Okay; that’s certainly understandable, and certainly your choice. Have you considered adoption?” “I haven’t considered anything yet,” I said. “I haven’t had time to think it out.” He crossed the room and opened a drawer. He drew out several pamphlets and brought them to me. “For your information,” he said. “Let me know if you have any questions or need any help.” He started to walk toward the door, and then turned to me. “And I really mean that, Abby. If you need anything, you just call —anything,” he emphasized. I nodded. When he opened the door, I saw my mother standing outside rubbernecking, trying to peer around him at me. I felt a small sense of satisfaction at her exclusion. I shoved the pamphlets inside my tee shirt before she had a chance to see them. She bustled in as soon as he was out the door. “What did you tell him?” “I didn’t tell him anything,” I said. “You must have said something. You were in here a long time.” I sighed. “Mother,” I said, “some things really are private.”

Her glare turned dark. “Not as long as I’m responsible for you.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. “He did most of the talking.” I stood, being careful not to let the pamphlets fall. “I need to use the bathroom,” I said and started down the hall. She was waiting for me outside the door, as if she thought I might try to fly out the window. Come to think of it, that wouldn’t have been a bad idea. We stopped at the receptionist’s desk. She handed me a card, which Mother promptly snatched—much to the surprise of the receptionist. Dr. Silverman had his share of staff changes, but most of the time he kept the same staff for a long time. Dottie had been with him for about five years now. She looked both sympathetic and confused. Apparently, she felt it necessary to relay to me what was on the card. “That’s Dr. Applegate’s number.” She leaned closer to me so no one but my mother and I could hear. “He’s an obstetrician and gynecologist. Dr. Silverman said to give you his number.” I turned crimson. Mother picked up my hand, as if I were a small child, and marched me out the door. Since Mother was treating me like a child, I thought I should reap some of the benefits. “Can we stop for ice cream?” Mother scoffed—not to my surprise. “Don’t be ridiculous. You have some nerve even asking such a thing. I’ve never suffered so much embarrassment in all my life.” I stared at her, my mouth open so wide the world’s largest butterfly could fit inside. “You’re embarrassed!” My heart started beating maddeningly, and I gasped for a breath of fresh air. “That was the most humiliating experience I’ve ever had to endure.” I looked out the window and Mother grew silent. After a while she said, “You’re not going to tell me what Dr. Silverman said, are you?” “Nope,” I said. “It’s my business.” “Just because you spread your legs for a boy and managed to get knocked up by him, doesn’t give you the right to disrespect your mother,” she said. I noticed her knuckles were turning white from the pressure she applied to the steering wheel, but I didn’t care.

“Respect goes two ways, Mother. I did not intend to sleep with Jimmy, and I certainly didn’t expect to get pregnant, but it’s here. It happened. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I don’t deserve to be treated like some caged animal.” I could hear Mother’s rapid breathing, knew she was angry, but I couldn’t control myself. “You don’t own me, Mother, and you can’t make all the decisions regarding my life. This is my problem and I will deal with it.” I pulled my arms close to my body and felt the pamphlets lying there. I was anxious to get out of my mother’s sight so I could read them. She had taken the doctor’s business card, but Dr. Applegate’s name was easy to . She couldn’t take away my memory. In the old days, as of like two months ago, Mother would treat me to lunch when we had to go to the doctors. It couldn’t be too expensive—that was just a waste of money—and it had to be quick so Mother could be home in plenty of time to attend whatever meeting the PTA was organizing—for whatever their latest cause would be. It seemed they were always trying to ‘improve’ the lives of us teenagers. Today, however, we drove straight home. I was just as glad—given Mother’s unforgiving mood—even though it meant I had to return to the penitentiary. I went straight for the closet and Mother followed me. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” she asked. “If so, use it now because I’m not coming back for a few hours.” I did, so I made my way to the bathroom. I did my business and then I stood looking in the mirror. While the average person could not see the changes in me, I could. There was a slight roundness to my face and my eyes seemed changed—older, more mature. Although, I’m sure that was just my imagination. I’m sort of on the young looking side and when I stared at my reflection, I realized I was just a baby having a baby. Then why did I feel so grownup inside? I touched my stomach and wondered what the sweet little thing looked like. I already felt the stirrings of maternal love. How could I do anything but love such an innocent baby. Mother banged on the door, so I hurried up and finished. I had enjoyed my outing of the day and felt reluctant and resentful at having to go back into the closet, but I trudged there anyway, putting as little pressure as I could on my injured foot. “I’ll be back at three,” she said.

She started to close the door, when her words hit me. I stopped the door with my hand. “Wait! Are you leaving?” Mother heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Just because you screwed up your life you’re not going to screw up mine. I have a P.T.A meeting.” She jutted out her chin. “We’re even more determined than ever to stop this senseless teen sex in the schools. You kids don’t even know what you’re doing. You kids are playing around with adult matters without any regard to the consequences, all at the parents’ expense.” My mouth gaped open. “You told them.” Mother threw back her shoulders. “Of course not! I just said I’d heard another girl was pregnant. I plan to keep this secret as long as possible. I’m praying God will solve this issue on his own. I’m sure He doesn’t want the devil’s spawn roaming this earth.” I knew what she meant, of course. She was hoping for a miscarriage. I wasn’t sure that was such a bad idea, but when she called him the devil’s spawn, I felt the heat of anger rise to my face. “How dare you, Mother!” My hand covered my stomach, and I felt bile rise to my mouth. I pushed past Mother and headed back to the bathroom, making it just in time. I vomited, gagged, coughed a couple times, and sat back against the wall. Mother appeared in the doorway wearing a smirk on her face. “If you’re done, I have to go.” I rose to my feet, shaking. “You’re going to leave me in there with a locked door when you’re not home. What if there’s a fire in the house?” “Don’t be absurd. You know how safety conscious we are. There’s not going to be a fire. Even if there was one, the fire department would respond to the alarm.” “Yeah, after I’ve died from smoke inhalation.” Mother shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Abigail. You’ll be fine.” I felt the door close deep inside me. Each inch it moved, my heart fluttered. I was beginning to understand how the animals in the zoo must feel. I read my

Bible a little more, took a short nap, and awoke with hunger pangs. It was then I realized Mother hadn’t brought me lunch before she left. I knew when my sister got home from school because a chocolate cookie, resting on a napkin that had a smiley face and the words hang in there written on it, appeared under the door. “Thanks,” I whispered through the door. She stuck her thumb under the door and I laughed. I devoured the cookie in two seconds flat. A cookie had never tasted so good. I wondered how much I could trust my sister. Would she rat me out if I asked her to get a message to Jimmy? I picked up the napkin, scribbled thanks on the back of it and added, will you call Jimmy for me? I scribbled his number and folded it up. The next time she came to the closet, I would slip it to her. My mother let me out for my afternoon break, but I saw Gabby lurking around. I wondered again if I had an ally or a foe in Gabby. I tried to catch Gabby’s eye. To my relief, she followed along behind us. Then she disappeared. When I got back to the closet, the napkin was gone. In its place was a chocolate bar. A huge smile broke out on my face. As soon as my prison door closed, I scarfed down the bar. I was allowed to the family for dinner that night. My mother said, “Have you learned your lesson yet?” I stared in disbelief. What did she think was going on here? She acted as if I stole cookies from the cookie jar and needed to promise never to do it again. “I have,” I said. My parents exchanged glances. “Two more days and then you may return to school,” my mother said. After dinner, my mother let me watch a movie with them on television. It was, of course, about a girl who decided to have a child out of wedlock and all the trials and tribulations she went through. In the end, it turned out she decided to give the baby up for adoption. Were they saying they wanted me to adopt out the baby? The movie ended, and I returned to my closet to sleep on the floor with pillows and blankets—just the thing a pregnant woman needed. I turned on the light and took out some of the pamphlets. Despite my objection earlier to the abortion

option, Dr. Silverman had stuck some into the stack, in case I changed my mind I guessed. I set it aside. I knew that wasn’t for me. Another pamphlet talked about adoption—laying out all the options such as private adoptions, in which I got to choose the adoptive parents, public adoptions, in which the government chose for me—with some input from me, and open adoption, where I got to remain a part of the baby’s life. I kind of liked that one, so I circled it. He had included pamphlets about the growth of my baby—it was only the size of a quarter then, and I had to laugh that something so small could be causing this much trouble. I was just about to pick up my Bible, for my nightly required reading, when another cookie appeared under the door. There wasn’t a message on the napkin, but a note from my sister, written on computer paper, was folded inside it. Jimmy’s freaked, it read. He wants to know what he can do. I grabbed my pen and wrote back: Just pray for me and don’t come near the house; my mother’s on a rampage. I shoved back the note, praying she was still there to retrieve it. Instead of the note being snatched, the door flew open and there stood my mother, hands on hips, tapping her foot on the ground as if she were scolding a bad puppy—except puppies didn’t have long hair that mothers could grab and yank. I found myself flying through the air and directly into my sister, who stood rigid as could be against the wall. I pleaded forgiveness from her and noticed the small smile touching her lips. I couldn’t help it; I started laughing, which of course made my mother even angrier. “I don’t know which one of you I’m more disappointed in,” my mother said. She left us for a moment, coming back with two clipboards and a stack of paper. “You will both stand here all night writing Thou shalt honor thy mother and thy father. I want it neat with no eraser marks or cross-outs. If you make a mistake, start all over.” She turned to leave but turned back. “No talking,” she added. We began writing, each of us scratching out the words, pausing to crumple paper when we made a mistake. After about an hour, when we felt sure our mother was asleep, Gabby looked at me and whispered, “He’s totally cute, Abby. I can see why you risked so much.” Then she grinned and began writing again. “It wasn’t like that,” I whispered back. “I was drunk.”

Her mouth and her eyes flew open. “OMG, girl. You really are a heathen.” She laughed out loud, and we both grimaced, frantically began writing again. We need not have worried; mother didn’t hear us. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I clarified. “Uh, yeah, likely story,” she said. She paused to write. “Are you going to keep it?” “I’m not sure.” “You should know,” Gabby said, “I overheard Mother tell Father she was going to take the baby and raise it herself.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “No worries, though. He said you’re carrying the devil’s child and he doesn’t even want you in the house.” We looked at each other and started giggling. Upstairs, we heard our parents’ door open. We frantically started writing. We heard footsteps descending the stairs. “I’m sorry I got you in trouble,” I quickly whispered. “It was worth it,” Gabby said, seconds before we saw our father appear at the top of the stairs, the light silhouetting him and the belt he held in his hands.

Chapter Seven

David

I sat in stunned silence as I listened to her tale of isolation and humiliation. I laughed when she and her sister became co-conspirators. My blood pressure raised at least ten points as my entire body felt anger surge through it. I was angry with her parents for using God for their own sadistic pleasure. I wondered again about this Jimmy boy. She had not yet revealed his knowledge of her pregnancy, but he certainly seemed to care for her. Esther Walton walked into the office, wearing anger as if it were part of her wardrobe. “Who authorized this ment in the monthly newsletter? If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times—our newsletter is not a public forum for selling things. Misty Blackwell doesn’t own this newsletter, and she can’t just use it for personal gain.” She shook the newsletter for emphasis. I shook my head as the rest of the gang tried to quiet her. “Who is that?” Abby asked, her tone growing nervous. “Just a parishioner,” I said. “If you hold on I’ll see what she wants and send her on her way.” She hesitated, and just about the time I thought she’d start her engine and flee—or worse, she agreed. I placed the phone on hold and looked at Esther. “I authorized the article,” I said. “Misty and her husband are having financial problems and wanted to try to sell a few things. I thought it might help to get the word out via the newsletter.” Esther blushed, faltered a little, then straightened her back and said, “With all due respect, pastor, it has always been a rule that the newsletter is for church business—not personal gain. If you let one personal item in, then everyone’s going to want to .” She stuck out her chin in a proprietary gesture. I sighed. “It’s this kind of attitude that has gotten the church in so much of a spiritual decline,” I said, regretting my harsh words the minute they left my mouth. I hadn’t meant to say my thoughts aloud. I was just frustrated at the petty

things this church made into such big issues, when things that are far more important needed attention. I sighed again. “I’m sorry, Esther,” I said. “I was out of line with my words, especially in public like this.” “Pastor David is trying to save someone’s life,” Dan said. Esther’s eyes grew wide. “Really!” She took a seat in the “audience” and began calming down about the newsletter article. “I overreacted, really. It’s not that big a deal. I didn’t know things had gotten so bad for Misty,” she told anyone who would listen. “Pastor’s really saving someone’s life! This is so exciting.” I put my finger to my lips. “Oh yeah, sorry.” She put her own finger to her lips and made a shushing sound. She sat back and giggled, folding her hands in her lap. Satisfied that she would remain quiet in her seat, I returned to my phone call. I punched the line, bringing her back to me. “Are you there?” I asked. “I’m here,” she said. “Did Jimmy know about the pregnancy?” I asked. “No,” she said. “At least not then he didn’t.” I took a deep breath and asked, “Is the way your parents portrayed God’s condemnation what you think of Him?” She laughed a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t know what, if anything, God is,” she said, “but I know if my parents believe it, it’s not true.” “So you don’t believe in God,” I said, holding my breath. “I don’t believe in anything,” she said, and we both grew quiet. After a while I said, “Do you believe in love?” “I don’t believe in anything,” she repeated, and I heard the choked sobs in her throat. Clearly, this child had been hurt beyond what I’d first thought. When the sobbing subsided, I asked. “What happened next?”

Abby

My bottom was sore the next morning. I thought for sure he must have bruised it, but when my mother let me out for my morning bathroom ritual, I glanced in the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse. I couldn’t see any signs of bruising, so I figured I got off lucky. I worried how my sister had fared. I turned on the shower and climbed inside, letting the hot water cascade down my body. I looked down at my belly. I didn’t know if I was imagining it or not, but I could swear I saw a slight swell where it had once been flat. I wished desperately I had some kind of book to read that might tell me about the changes I was going through. I couldn’t have been in the bathroom more than five minutes when I heard Mother banging on the door. I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. She started rattling the doorknob. “Why did you lock the door?” she demanded. “What are you doing in there?” I sighed. “I’m showering!” I yelled through the door. I wrapped the towel around me and opened the door. “And I always lock the door,” I added. She stood there, straight as an arrow. Her eyes mocked me, but I was determined to stand my ground. “Get dressed,” she commanded. I tried to close the door, but she stuck her foot in. “Leave it open.” Daring to defy her, I slammed the door and locked it. She banged on it, but I wouldn’t open it. The phone rang. She stopped banging, and a few moments later, I heard her speaking in muffled tones. I guessed she was on the phone in the hallway. She didn’t return. I finished dressing and, just to make myself feel better, I put on a light coat of makeup that I found crammed in a drawer. I supposed Mother might have left it there, or perhaps Jennifer had the one time she stayed the night. I hoped my mother wouldn’t notice.

I walked through the dining room on my way back to the penitentiary and noticed my place had been set. I could hear someone slamming dishes in the kitchen. I cringed. Daring a plate to the head, I made my way to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway. “Can I help?” She shoved a bowl of eggs at me. “Put these on the table.” I turned and walked back to the dining room, placing the bowl on the table just as Gabby descended the stairs. She looked puzzled when she saw me standing before my place. “You’re eating with us?” I shrugged. My mother came into the room. “Don’t stand there like a couple of useless princesses; there are things to be brought in.” My sister and I nearly ran to the kitchen, bumping into each other as we both tried to get through the doorway at the same time. We stifled giggles, went to the refrigerator to get milk, orange juice, and Dad’s hot sauce he liked to put on his eggs. We set our loot on the table and slid into our chairs, immediately taking a position of prayer. My father had a knack for knowing when a meal was set down, and he always— and I mean always entered the dining room on time. He did not disappoint me on this day. We said prayer and Mother served father first—some screwed up rule about him being head of the household. Then she served herself and ed the bowl of eggs to Gabby. I got the rest. She ed the toast in the same procession. We ate in silence, which suited me just fine. When my mother saw that I had finished, she said, “Go change your clothes and wash off that makeup; you’re going to school.” I was so shocked I just stared. “Did I stutter!” she shouted. I jumped from my chair, taking my dishes with me. I quickly rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Then I bolted to the stairs, taking them two at a time,

non-verbally exclaiming shouts of joy. I was brushing my teeth when Gabby entered the bathroom. “Why is she letting you out early?” “I don’t know and I don’t care,” I said. “I’m just happy to be breathing free air again.” “Aren’t you the least bit nervous? It’s not at all like her, you know.” I stopped long enough to consider my sister’s statement. “I suppose it’s not,” I itted. I shrugged. “What am I supposed to do about it?” “I’m just saying, that’s all,” Gabby said. Then she said something that made my heart stop beating. “Watch your back, okay, big sis?” I nodded as I swished mouthwash. She turned and walked away. I frowned in the mirror. “Thanks, Gabby,” I said aloud. “Now my big celebration is ruined.” I wasn’t exactly mad at her. Gabby and I actually got along quite well. It wasn’t like Gabby to try to raise trouble. Still…I wondered where this idea had come from. I spit in the sink one final time and stood staring at myself. Was it my imagination, or did I look ghostly pale? I decided it was from throwing up so much and let it go. Gabby and my mother were both waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. Mother scrutinized my appearance. I had washed off all the makeup—as instructed—pulled on a pair of jeans cut high at the waist, and donned a dull, gray, shabby sweater. I looked like a geek. I obviously ed inspection because Mother turned and walked out the door and into the garage. Gabby and I followed. “No talking to that heathen boy,” Mother said on the way. I swore under my breath, keeping myself from popping out what I was thinking, which was: That heathen boy happens to be my baby’s father. Gabby caught my eye and shook her head, just slightly so Mother wouldn’t see it.

Mother pulled up to the curb and Gabby and I got out. “Please tell me you’re not wearing that to school,” Gabby said the minute Mother pulled away. I set my things down, grabbed the dreaded sweater by the ends and pulled it over my head as fast as I could, hoping no one had seen it. Underneath the sweater, I had on a long-sleeved tee-shirt that hugged my body in a modest way—stylish, but not seductive. Gabby nodded her approval, and we walked together up the stairs to the school building. Jimmy ambushed me the minute I entered. “Where the hell have you been?” Gabby gave us a look. I pleaded to her with my eyes. She shook her head and walked away—always the sister I could count on. I didn’t know how much Gabby had told him, so I let him lead the conversation. “Your sister said you got into some trouble. Your parents grounded you? I didn’t know parents still did that.” “Mine do,” I said, and added in thought, I wish that was all they did. Suddenly, I couldn’t bear looking at him and tried to step past him. He stopped me, looked into my eyes, saw…what? I wondered, but what I saw in his was…comion? Maybe a little bit of love? “What’s going on Abby?” I knew I needed to tell him, but I didn’t want it to be like this. I wondered if it was in the school nurse’s job description to break devastating news to high school seniors headed to ivy-league schools on a basketball scholarship. I decided it most likely wasn’t and knew I’d have to do the dirty deed myself. “I need to talk to you,” I said. His smile dropped. “Is everything okay?” “Not here,” I said. “Can you meet me at lunch somewhere?” We had a closedcampus school, but everyone always left anyway.

“How about Benji’s?” Benji’s was a deli where most of the kids hung out. I didn’t want something so populated. “How about you pick up some food, and I’ll meet you in the park across the street. I have my own lunch, so just get something for you.” “Okay,” he said. He bent to kiss me and I pulled back. “Maybe you’d better not,” I said. He knit his eyebrows together, frowning. “You’re scaring me, Abby.” The bell rang, keeping me from having to answer his comment. I sighed in relief and ran off, turning to wave as I rounded the corner. I had Chemistry first period. I slid into my seat beside Jennifer. She brightened. “Hey, kiddo,” she said, using her pet name for me. Her gorgeous smile outshined my grumpy attitude. Sometimes I’d swear nothing could bring down Jennifer’s mood. “Hey,” I said. Mr. Newton called the class to order and began to drone on. He was halfway through his lecture, and I was falling asleep, when I felt something hit me. I looked down and saw a folded note from Jennifer. I opened it. Is your mom mad? It said. I shrugged my shoulders, turning my palms up to show I had no idea what she was talking about. She picked up her pencil and started writing again. When Mr. Newton turned his back, she tossed it. I opened it and read it. My mom overheard the principal yelling at her. He said if she didn’t get you back to school he was turning her into the truancy officer. I grinned. So, this is why she let me go early. That must have been the phone call this morning that set off my mother. I wrote back. She’s pissed. What’s up? She wrote back.

Mr. Newton turned around, eyed us both suspiciously. I palmed the note, sliding it up my shirt sleeve—an art I had been practicing since the sixth grade. He walked down the aisle toward our desks. My heart started racing, but I played it off cool—smiling when he stood over me, looking down at me. “Everything okay here, ladies?” he asked. “Just fine,” I said, maintaining my smile. I held out my hands, proving I had nothing in them. He turned and walked back as the kids all snickered. Jenny grinned and mouthed, “Spill it at lunch.” I shook my head, mouthed, “Meeting Jimmy,” in return, just as Mr. Newton reached the front of the class and turned around, ending our conversation. After class, I held Jennifer back. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s really important that I talk to Jimmy.” “What is going on with you?” “I have to tell Jimmy first,” I said. Her mouth widened and she paled. “Never mind, kiddo, you just told me. Oh my god, Abby. Did you tell your parents?” “Yeah, I told them. They locked me in a closet until I could see the error of my ways.” She laughed, and when she saw I wasn’t smiling, she sobered. “No way! They really did?” I have no idea why Jennifer found this so shocking; I’d been telling her for years how my parents were. I nodded, biting back tears. “Abby, that’s awful. You should call the police.” I shook my head. “And then what? Foster care? No thanks.” I started to walk past Mr. Newton’s desk.

Jennifer grabbed my arm. I looked down at her hand clutching my arm. She released me. “It’s better than living in a closet.” “Is it?” I said. “I’ve heard what goes on in some of those homes.” “You girls get moving along now,” Mr. Newton said. The warning bell rang, so we both scattered to our next class. I don’t know how I made it to lunch, but I did. I sat in the park waiting, nervously twisting my purse straps. Finally, I saw him crossing the street. “Sorry,” he said, sitting down beside me on the bench. “The line was horrible.” He grinned. “I cut in front of Mark Matthews.” He immediately tore into his sandwich. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t make my lips move. I felt tired, my breasts were so sore that I winced in pain every time I moved, and I felt as if I might vomit at any moment. “Hey, you okay?” Jimmy asked. He smoothed back my hair and I saw genuine concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” I started crying. Jimmy put down his sandwich and pulled me close. “I don’t know how to say what I have to say,” I choked out between sobs. “Just say it,” Jimmy said, but I felt him tense beside me. I wondered if he already guessed what was on my mind. I pulled back from him. The wind blew gently, and I closed my eyes, willing the breeze to rip the words from my mouth. I felt Jimmy’s hand close gently over mine. The touch was soft, reassuring, giving me the strength I needed. I opened my eyes and looked directly into his. “I’m pregnant.” His eyes fluttered for a few seconds. I readied myself for the onslaught that didn’t come. He didn’t scream, freak out, run away, or call me names. To my utter surprise, he pulled me close again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault.” I didn’t know what to say—or feel. In a way, I sort of agreed with him, but I knew that was just a copout. True, I had been drunk that day, and Jimmy did take advantage of that, but it was hardly rape. I knew deep down that no matter how drunk I had been—I could have, should have said no.

“Say something,” he said. I sighed. “It’s not your fault, Jimmy. I know I was drunk that day, but I wasn’t ed out. I could have stopped you.” My eyes averted for a moment and then came back. “I knew what was happening.” “What do you want to do about it? I mean, I don’t even know you well enough to know what your feelings are on abortion.” I chuckled lightly. I realized then how sad the situation was that I had made a baby with a guy who didn’t know the first thing about who I was. Neither, for that matter, did I know anything about him. I didn’t know how God truly felt about saving sex for marriage, but somehow I doubted this was the way it was meant to be. “I won’t have an abortion, if that’s what you’re asking.” “I wasn’t suggesting it,” he said, somewhat defensively. “What about adoption?” “I guess that’s an option,” I said. He sighed and relaxed. For some reason that response made me angry. Had I expected him to swoop down on a white horse, proclaim his love for me, and carry me off to the nearest justice of the peace? I jumped up from the bench. A sudden, uncontrollable anger fumed within me. “If you don’t want anything to do with it, that’s fine with me!” I took off on a run, leaving all my things with him. “Abby wait? Will you just hold on a minute?” I kept running, though. I ran and didn’t stop until I found myself downtown, with all the traffic honking in my ear. I stopped, panting, dizzy from the efforts of my flight. I bent over, trying to catch my breath. When I looked up, I was standing in front of the abortion clinic. Well, okay, they called it the Family Planning Center. But wasn’t that just a fancy way of saying, I screwed up and now I want you to fix it. I was staring at the door when a young woman—not much older than my sixteen years, brushed past me. “Sorry,” she said. “Are you coming in?” she asked with a cheery smile on her face. She carried a bag in her hand and I could smell

french-fries. I went in and sat down. The girl with the bag opened a door and entered a back room. Thirty seconds later, she re-appeared on the opposite side of a long counter, munching the fries. The smell made me hungry and nauseated at the same time. She wiped her hands on a paper towel, smacked her lips, and said, “Hi there. May I help you?” I didn’t realize at first she was talking to me. I looked around. She smiled again, nodded her head. “Oh!” I said. “Can I just sit here for a minute? My boyfriend’s looking for me, and I don’t want him to find me.” I was surprised at the word “boyfriend” coming out of my mouth. Is that what Jimmy was? Perhaps it made me feel better to think of him that way. I slept with my boyfriend, and we made a baby together sounded a whole lot better than, I got drunk at a party and got impregnated by a boy I barely know. She smiled a third time, only this time she looked as if she pitied me. “Sure. You just let me know if you need anything.” I looked around the office. All over the walls, there were various pictures of fetal development, an ment for birth-control pills, posters warning about STDs. Thankfully, there weren’t any pictures of an unborn baby being sucked from its mother’s womb. I didn’t know why I was sitting there. I didn’t have an appointment, and I certainly didn’t intend on having an abortion. I found the room welcoming for some reason. Just then, a girl about my age walked, or rather waddled in. The french-fry girl greeted her with a grin. “Hey, Stacey. Wow! Look how big you’re getting!” Stacey rubbed her belly. “Three more weeks,” she said. “I can’t wait to get this little guy out.” I was surprised. I guess it really was a family-planning clinic. Stacey came and sat beside me. “Is this your first?” she asked. I didn’t want to answer at first. But then Stacey said, “It’s okay. You aren’t the only one to screw up.” She patted her belly again. “Second time for me.” She laughed. “I guess some people never learn. I’m keeping this one.”

“What did you do with the first one?” I asked before thinking the question through. “I’m sorry. That’s probably none of my business.” “It’s okay,” Stacey said. “I asked you first.” She hesitated a moment. Then her face contorted into a painful expression, and I wondered if she was going to refrain from answering. Her eyes misted over as she said, “I gave the first one up for adoption.” Then she blinked rapidly several times and pulled herself together. “Was it hard?” I knew I was prying, but I just couldn’t stop myself from asking the question. “Very hard,” she said. “That’s why I’m keeping this one.” Her face took on the happy expression she wore when she had first entered. “So, is this your first?” she asked again. I nodded, thoughtful. “Would you do it again?” “It was better for him,” she said, but her smile fell again, quivering for a few seconds before returning. I wondered if she was trying to convince herself, or me.

Chapter Eight

David

I tried to imagine this frightened sixteen-year-old sitting alone in an office where life could go either way—and the only advice available to her being that of an equally troubled girl. I wondered about her parents, and in what kind of environment they had grown up. Had they gone to church? Played baseball? Played with dolls? Had something happened in their own lives to make them such unforgiving parents? I thought of my own loving parents, iring them even more as I listened to the tale of this troubled girl. And of Betty’s parents who doted on every accomplishment she achieved. Had that been what had given both of us the need to do unto others, or was it our spiritual Father driving that desire? I scribbled something on a notepad, ripped it off, and handed it to the social worker. What kind of help is available? I wrote. There’s always foster care, she wrote back. I shook my head and frowned. Although I knew there were plenty of good foster parents out there, I did not want that to be the only option I had to offer her. She scribbled on the pad again and handed it to me. Let me make some calls. I nodded and watched her walk out the door, her stride purposeful. From the corner of the room came whispering. I looked at Minerva, who was explaining what was going on to Martin Drake. I wondered why all these people kept showing up. Then I realized there was a board of trustees meeting that night. I slapped my forehead, lost as to what to do. I gestured for Minerva and Martin to stop talking. She nodded, and they took seats in what I now called “the audience.” I learned two things early on in my days as a pastor: One: The congregation owns the church, no matter what the pastor likes to think. Two: Church people will never run when they think something special is going on and, even though they could only hear my side of the conversation, I knew their clever minds were

filling in the blanks. Hector Radcliff came strolling in the door and took a seat with the others. Apparently, the word was out that there was trouble at New Hope Christian Church. I hoped Abby wouldn’t get scared off. She probably wouldn’t even see them coming in as they were parking in the staff parking lot, whereas she was parked in the visitor’s parking lot. Still, I thought it might be fair to warn her. “Um, Abby,” I said. “Yes?” “I wanted to let you know you might see a few people wandering around the church, and I don’t want you to be scared off. These people are here for a meeting. I didn’t call them.” The line went silent and I began to panic. After nearly thirty seconds she said, “Okay.” “Do you need anything, Abby? Are you hungry? Do you need to use the bathroom again?” “Maybe a little,” she said. “Can you give me another five minutes, and I’ll see that a sandwich and a drink are brought down to the youth center, where you used the bathroom before.” “No tricks?” she asked. “No tricks,” I said. “Okay.” I had to move quickly. Five minutes wasn’t much time. Before I could say anything, Minerva was on her feet. “I’ve got the sandwich.” “I’ll get lemonade,” Alice Jenkins said, jumping to her feet. I hadn’t even seen Alice come in.

“I brought cookies for the meeting.” Minerva said. “Let’s throw some in for her.” The two women sailed out the door, bustling their way to the kitchen. I smiled. Maybe Abby’s problem was just the thing this church needed to get itself back on track. When five minutes had ed, I said, “Are you there, Abby?” “Yes,” she said. “You the room you went to before?” “Yes.” “There’s a tray of food waiting for you there. Take your time, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.” “Okay.” I watched out the window for signs of her moving. It was fairly dark now, but I saw the interior light of the car come on and a figure, silhouetted against the overhead lights, moved across the parking lot. Minerva and Alice came back. The glow in their eyes was refreshing. “Were you able to find out anything about the boyfriend?” I asked Minerva. “From what I can tell, he got some basketball scholarship to Duke. Nothing else comes up. The principal of the school is supposed to call me back but nothing so far. Her cell phone rang, “Oh, this must be him.” She answered the call, sidling away to better hear her caller. I turned my attention to the social worker. “What have you got?” “I’ve traced down her family.” She shook her head. “It doesn’t look promising. The dad’s an ant, mother doesn’t work. They belong to some religious organization I’ve never heard of—New Order of Christian Saints.” I nodded. I’d heard of them before. They’d been under scrutiny by all the large denominations, but had never done anything wrong—at least not that they had gotten caught for. I assumed it was because they were so quiet and kept to

themselves. Now I wondered if the father’s fanaticism was based on his own personal thoughts, or was it a calling of his religion. “Dig up what you can on the church,” I said. “Shall I the parents?” I was stuck in a dilemma here. My conversations with Abby were, as a pastor, technically considered confidential. However, I had an obligation to Abby, and my profession, to get her as much help as possible—thus protecting my right to break my oath. However, I was gambling on the fact that Abby didn’t really want to take her own life, or that of her baby’s. I shook my head. “No parents. They seem to be the root of the problem here.” Minerva came back looking excited. “The baby-daddy’s name—that’s what they call it these days,” she said looking proud and cocky that she knew one of the teenagers’ . “His name is Jimmy Martinez. He’s a freshman at Duke. He’s studying pre-med on a basketball scholarship.” I smiled. Good job, Minerva. “Did you happen to get any information on his parents?” Minerva’s smile fell. “Sorry. I didn’t think of it. I’m new to this sleuthing thing, you know.” She giggled. “It’s kind of fun.” I gave her a stern look. Her smile turned into a frown. “Sorry,” she said. “I know who he is,” Dan said. We all turned toward him. “My daughter’s a junior at the high school. She’s been a cheerleader since the ninth grade. I go to all the games. Jimmy Martinez was top scorer on the team for three years, voted MVP every year. The scouts were all over him. He had his choice of schools.” I nodded. I was beginning to form a picture in my mind, and I didn’t want to see it go that way. “Do you know the parents?” “I know of them,” Dan said, “but I’ve never spoken to them, outside of ‘hey, good game.’ The dad owns one of the fast-food ts in town. I don’t which one. Do you want me to see if I can get hold of his parents?” I thought about it for a minute. Would I do more harm than good by tracking down the paternal grandparents? After all, hadn’t they had a whole year in which to step forward? I nodded. “See if you can locate them, but don’t call them yet. I

want to see what else Abby has to say first.” I was feeling charged. I hadn’t had this tough of a case since the year Chelsea Warren died, and I had to help the entire town accept her death—and prevent them from lynching the young man responsible. I hadn’t realized how stagnant I’d been feeling until now. I also began to wonder if some of the discord happening at this church was due to my own lack of enthusiasm in dealing with these people’s day-to-day lives. I saw the car light turn on and knew Abby was back. I picked up the phone, waited for the light to go off. “Abby?” I called. A moment later, she picked up the phone. “I’m here,” she said. “Feel better?” “Yes, thanks.” “Can you tell me what happened to Jimmy?” “Jimmy’s gone,” she said. Then she began sobbing. I waited for her to finish. A heavy, unwelcome weight fell on my chest. Suddenly, I dreaded hearing the rest of the story, but I didn’t have the luxury of turning a deaf ear. I had answered God’s call, and it was my duty to see this through.

Abby

I didn’t see Jimmy for several days after that. He tried to call me, but my mother wouldn’t call me to the phone. I didn’t own a cell phone, so that was out. I didn’t turn on the computer he had given me for fear of being discovered. He waited outside my classroom, but I just stayed inside until the bell rang. One day, Ms. French, my Calculus teacher, asked, “Lover’s spat?”

I tried to smile. “I guess,” I said, shrugging it off. My heart ached to see him, talk to him—anything to be close to him. “If you’re scared I can get someone to escort you to your next class.” I sighed, shook my head. “It’s okay. I guess I have to face him sometime. He doesn’t want to hurt me.” Nonetheless, she watched us walk away, letting Jimmy know she was observing. “She your guard dog?” he joked. “She just cares,” which is more than most people, I added silently. He was nervous, I could tell. “How are you? Are you sick and all that stuff?” I slowly nodded. “Pretty much.” “I’m sorry for that.” I shrugged. We fell silent and slowly walked toward the quad. I could tell Jimmy wanted to say something, and I wasn’t making it any easier for him. Raucous sounds came from kids slamming lockers, laughing and teasing, boys shouting, girls giggling, but neither of us paid much attention to it. Finally, I could feel Jimmy take a huge breath beside me. I didn’t look at him, keeping my eyes straight ahead, as if I were focusing on something. He grabbed hold of my arm and stopped me, turning me toward him. “I wasn’t saying I thought you should get an abortion the other day.” “What were you saying?” “Jeez, Abby, I don’t really know. You just kind of sprung it on me. I guess I need to know what you want before I know what I need to do.” I didn’t know what to say. Was he actually saying he would stand by me? What about his parents? What about college? What about basketball? He took both my hands in his. I tried to pull back, uncomfortable with the closeness. His grip tightened. “It’s our problem, Abby, not yours. I will help you

through this.” “Really?” I asked, surprised, and for the first time beginning to feel like things might be okay. “How do you feel about adoption?” he asked, nervously picking at the hem of his shirt, still holding my hands, so it felt like I was picking at it, too. I thought about the girl I had met in the family planning clinic. If I chose adoption, would I later regret it and intentionally become pregnant again, trying to erase the emptiness of giving a part of myself away. “It’s an option to think about,” I said. He sighed, but he didn’t look as relieved as I thought he might. “I’m not sure how I feel about having a child out there and not knowing it.” I nodded. “I had the same feelings.” He looked down at my stomach. Self-consciously, I pulled my shirt down so that it hung below my belt line. “How big is it?” he asked. “About the size of a quarter, I think.” His eyebrows rose. “That’s not very big.” I laughed and it felt so good to do so. He smiled, too. Then he hooked an arm around my shoulder, as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and walked me to my classroom. When we got there, he bent and kissed me, quickly—but still a kiss. I frowned in puzzlement. “Are we a couple?” I bravely asked. Jimmy smiled, reached out a tentative hand and touched my belly. “Well, we’re having a baby. I guess that makes us something.” I was so happy that when I got home that afternoon, I didn’t even mind if my mother made me go back to the closet. However, she didn’t make me go back to the closet. Instead, she made me scrub myself clean from head to toe with a toothbrush, while she stood by watching. “You need to wash that boy off your skin,” she said.

My eyes flew open wide. I couldn’t believe it. Had Gabby turned on me and become a spy for Mother? No, not my Gabby—she was my comrade, my buddy. She and I were like one. Then my mother said, “You will scrub yourself every day until that evil thing is out of your body.” I relaxed. Gabby wasn’t a spy. She was still my special sister. I didn’t complain, and when my skin was red from scrubbing, Mother said I could get out. I dressed in a pair of sweats and curled up on top of my bed to do homework. An hour later, Gabby stuck her head through the doorway. “Mom said to tell you to come and make salad.” I nodded, but she didn’t leave right away. I could tell she wanted to say something. “What?” “I saw you with him today.” “Who?” “Your baby daddy.” “I hate that term,” I said. “What else should I call him?” “His name is Jimmy, and he’s very nice.” I added, “What did you see?” “I saw him kiss you.” “So.” I tried to act cool about it, but my heart began to race. “So,” she repeated. “Nancy saw you, too.” “So,” I said again. “So,” she said again. “Nancy’s mother and our mother are friends.”

I paled, panicked. “Is Nancy going to say anything?” “She said she wouldn’t.” “Can you trust her?” “I’m pretty sure about her, but my point is, you need to watch it. You never know who might be watching.” I nodded. “Thanks.” I rose and followed Gabby out of the room. Mother was bustling around the kitchen. Well okay, cycloning around the kitchen was more like it. Mother didn’t know how to do anything at leisure. To her, every day had a purpose and every purpose commanded attention. A simple meal, prepared idly by women laughing and chatting in the kitchen, could only be found on television, or someone else’s kitchen. She was peeling potatoes when I entered. “Did you do your homework?” she asked, not in a pleasant curious way, but a demanding accusatory one. “I did it,” I said, making sure to keep my answer brief. I was not out of the doghouse yet, and I expected to be walking on pins and needles for at least the next seven months. Who knew what would happen after the baby was born. “After dinner you can clean your bathroom.” “It’s Gabby’s turn,” I said. My mother turned her head sharply, and I knew I had made a mistake. “It’s yours now,” she retorted. I sighed quietly. “Would I be correct in assuming it’s mine for the next seven months?” “You would be correct.” She looked sideways at me. Was she waiting for me to smart-mouth her? When I said nothing, she put the potatoes on to boil and walked out. I hurriedly made the salad, carefully cutting each vegetable in precisely sized pieces—should they insult the queen otherwise—and made my escape.

Gabby was waiting for me when I entered my bedroom. “I suppose you heard all that.” I said. “I’m really sorry,” she said. I could tell she was sincere. “You don’t have to do my cleaning. I’ll do it after Mother goes to bed; she’ll never know.” I waved her off. “It’s okay. A little extra work won’t hurt me. It’s probably good for the baby.” Gabby’s smile faltered. I got a little scared. Right now, my sister was the only person in my court. I couldn’t bear it if she turned against me. “Are you bothered by the fact that I’m pregnant?” “No,” she said, hesitating. “I’m just not used to it. You’re my big sis, not a mother.” Then she laughed and things were okay again. “You’ll let me know if the extra work gets too much, okay.” “Deal,” I said and hugged her. Physical touch was a rarity in our house, so Gabby pulled back for a minute. Then both her arms went around me and we hugged with joy. Our mother called from below, and the hug ended as suddenly as it had begun. I felt a void when we separated. From the look on Gabby’s face, she felt the same. I vowed to show her more affection in the future. Mother and Father were already seated at the table when we walked in. Mother wore a stern smile, and ours immediately dropped from our faces as we slid into our seats and clasped our hands in prayer. Father said the blessing in his deep, authoritative voice that used to scare me when I was a child. “Blessed Father, to you we give thanks for this food that you have seen fit to give us—even though one has strayed from the flock, amen.” Oh brother! What did he think God was going to do, swoop down from heaven and clean out the cupboard, just because I stepped out of line? I stifled a snicker and resisted the temptation to roll my eyes. Blessing out of the way and stares down to a minimum, I began eating. Today was Tuesday and Tuesday was meatloaf day. My mother didn’t believe in fancy

meals and saw no reason to spend money on fancy additives. Therefore, meatloaf consisted of just that—meat. I had eaten meatloaf at Jennifer’s house before and delighted in the things her mother put in it. I tasted onions, and green peppers, various spices that my tongue could not decipher. Today, however, with my stomach lurching and rolling, I was grateful for my mother’s bland cooking. I picked at it, pushing food around on my plate, hoping to make it look as if I had at least consumed some of it. “Abigail,” Mother called sharply, “Stop playing with your food and eat.” “My stomach’s a bit queasy,” I said. “And whose fault is that?” she asked. “Now eat.” I forced the food in, ran to the bathroom to vomit a few moments later, and returned to the table. In my absence, Mother had replaced the food I had just vomited. I sat there, staring at my plate in disbelief. Gabby wore an expression of pity, and telepathically offered her . I didn’t even need to ask to be excused; I knew I wasn’t going anywhere until my plate was empty. Still, I could not bring myself to put the fork into my mouth. Gabby finished, asked to be excused, and went into the kitchen to begin washing the dishes. Mother and Father both finished and wandered off to do their nightly Bible study in the den. As soon as we heard Father reading aloud, Gabby tore into the room, shoveled my food into her mouth as fast as she could, leaving just a sparse amount for me to finish in case Mother walked back in. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Sure,” she whispered back. “But you’re paying for the gym when I gain all those extra pounds.” I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the giggle. The funniest part being we both knew I’d never see a penny from our father with which to pay a gym hip. I waited ten minutes, to be sure my stomach had settled, and then ate the rest of what was on my plate. I brought the plate to show Mother.

“Now, see. That wasn’t so bad,” she said, nodding her head in smug satisfaction. “If you’re going to carry a child you’ll need to suffer to make sure it’s healthy.” I carried my plate into the kitchen. Gabby had long since finished the dishes, so I washed my plate, dried it, and put it into the cabinet. This became our ritual for the next several weeks, until the morning sickness, which wasn’t just morning sickness—by the way, lessened and I could begin to keep some food in my stomach.

Chapter Nine

David

I wanted to cry as Abby retold her story. My wife, Betty, was pregnant, and I holding her while the ravages of morning sickness tore at her body. I the exhaustion she felt afterward, and the trips running to the bathroom when she smelled anything that disagreed with her. I wanted to hold Abby then, wanted to let her know that I cared. I was grateful her sister Gabby had been there to some degree. This thought inspired me and I wrote on a piece of paper, find her sister, Gabriella. I tore off the paper and handed it to Minerva. The hour was growing late, so I wrote on another paper, Call Betty. No sooner had I written the note, though, than I smelled chicken and corn bread and turned to see Betty coming through the door. “My goodness,” she said, “What—” “Shh,” a collective sound came from the growing audience of ers. I waved her down, and just as if she had been there all along, she took a seat with the others. I saw her lean over and whisper something to Dan. Dan shrugged, whispered something into her ear. She placed a hand over her heart. I saw her soft curls bounce lightly as she gently shook her head. A look of empathy settled over her features as she readied herself to listen with the others. My heart filled with tenderness for this love of mine. I turned my attention back to Abby. “It sounds as if Gabby was a life saver for you,” I said. “Gabby is the best,” she said. “What would she say to you right now?” “I can’t burden her any more with my problems. She has her own life to live.

Anyway, she’s not allowed to speak to me; I’m a bad influence on her.” She grew quiet. I could hear little Grace whimpering in the background, and Abby cooing soothing sounds to her. I wondered how she could be a bad influence on anyone.

Abby

Things went relatively well for a while—as well as they could, anyway. Gabby and I had the dinner routine down to perfection, and I was sure Mother never suspected a thing. Jimmy and I had begun to see each other on the sly, keeping the pregnancy to ourselves. Once, when we were in the back of the school, kind of making out, I suddenly felt really sick. I ran to the trashcan and vomited inside. Through my bouts of retching, I could see Jimmy in my peripheral vision, cringing beside me. “Is that normal?” he asked with genuine concern. I nodded that it was, and he held me while all my breakfast transferred to the trashcan. It felt so good to be comforted that I started willing my body to hold off throwing up, just so Jimmy could hold me. I continued the daily scrubbing of my body with the toothbrush, with my mother standing watch, of course. I was okay with this, until my belly began to swell, and my mother couldn’t take her eyes off it. I wore loose tops at school, which wasn’t all that different for me; showing the body in any manner is a sin. One day, Jimmy startled me by pulling me into a vacant hallway, placing his hand under my shirt and cradling my small bulge. “That’s our baby,” he whispered, careful that no one overhead us. “I just had to feel it, Abby.” I could feel his hot breath on my cheek, and I felt a rush of love go through my

body. I smiled—both at the touch, and at the thought of what my mother would say if she saw Jimmy’s hand under my shirt. Then he kissed me, and the love that flowed between us scared me. I broke away. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Nothing,” I said, unsuccessfully trying to smile. But the truth of the matter was, the closer Jimmy and I got, the harder the idea of adoption became. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep it a secret,” I said. Jimmy said, “Aren’t you supposed to see a doctor?” He came up behind me, attempting to take me in his arms. I pulled away again. “Doctors cost money,” I said. “I have some money,” he said. I felt choked up. “You’d do that? You would give me money for a doctor?” “It’s my baby, too. Besides, I still feel as if it’s my fault.” A small part of me agreed with him, but blaming him wasn’t going to take the problem away, and he had been excellent in ing me since the initial shock wore off. “I’ll talk to my mother about it.” I broached the subject as soon as I got home. “Say, Mom,” I said when she picked me up, trying my best to sound nonchalant. I was riding in the backseat and Gabby in the front. Another form of banishment, I suppose, but I didn’t mind. The farther away from her, the better I felt. She turned in her seat, glanced quickly at me, giving me permission to speak. “Shouldn’t I be seeing a doctor?” “Doctor’s cost money,” she said. “You’re perfectly fine. I’ve been through two pregnancies myself. I know what you need.” “Jimmy offered to pay for the doctor,” I said as I bit my lower lip, waiting for the onslaught.

She stiffened in her seat. “I forbade you from talking to that boy, and I don’t want you to go spreading your scandal all over that school, neither.” “He’s the baby’s father,” I protested. “There are things that will come up that we need to discuss.” “There’s nothing you need to discuss,” she snapped. “He may have planted that demon seed in your belly, but it ends there. You are not to have anything to do with him. You’ll have this child and then go on with your life.” She paused for a moment, as if she were trying to find the right words to say. Then she said, “Your father and I will raise this child. You aren’t in any position to do so, and if it’s going to have any chance of surviving its demon existence, we are the ones to help it through.” My jaw dropped open, and then I ed Gabby telling me about the conversation she had overheard. She locked eyes with me now and raised one of them in a “see I told you so, didn’t I” way. I took a deep breath and plunged in. “I was sort of thinking of adoption,” I said. “Rubbish,” my mother said. “Nobody’s going to want your devil child. Besides, the child will serve as a constant reminder to you of your sinning ways. That way, you’ll think twice before fornicating again.” I started to open my mouth to retort, but Gabby shook her head, and I saw that she was right. Arguing with Mother would do no good. I knew I needed to make other plans. We rode home the rest of the way in silence. When Mother pulled into the garage, I dashed upstairs as fast as I could. Taking my laptop from underneath the mattress, I took it into the bathroom, locked the door, and pulled up my email as quickly as I could. I had forty-eight emails from Jimmy, all penned during my time of captivity. I would have to wait until later to read them. Right now, I just needed to tell him about my conversation with my mother. The instant message box popped up and Jimmy immediately opened a conversation:

Jimmy: Hello. How’d the rest of your day go? Me: Lousy, my mother is trying to steal our baby from us. What do I do? Nothing came right back, and I began to panic. Then: Jimmy: Let’s get married and run away to Alaska. Leave it to Jimmy to put a smile on my face. Me: LOL! She won’t let me see a doctor, neither. Jimmy: Even if I pay for it? Me: You’re the demon baby-maker. I’m not supposed to even talk to you. Jimmy: What kind of mother do you have? Me: The worst. I was startled by a loud banging on the door. “Abigail, what are you doing in there?” I jumped a foot. “What do you think!” I yelled, “I’m using the toilet.” “Come out, now,” she demanded. I typed: Gotta go, the jail warden’s pounding on the door. I signed off, hid the laptop in the laundry hamper, flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and opened the door to my mother, who was red in the face. She looked past me, as if I were hiding someone in the bathroom. “What’s going on?” “I think it’s called nature,” I said and pushed past her. “Abigail!” she screamed after me, but I kept walking until I got to my bedroom. “Abigail, you come back here.”

I got to my bedroom door, stopped, and looked at her. “I’m tired,” I said. “I’m taking a nap.” I opened the door, slid inside and leaned against it, waiting for the onslaught of words to come, or to feel fists pounding on the door. Neither came. After a few moments, I threw myself on my bed and fell fast asleep. My door flying open, and my father’s heavy footfall across the floor, awakened me two hours later. I heard the sound of his belt come off. Then my arm wrenched backward as he pulled me from my prone position. He didn’t say a word, just gave me five swats across the rear. He turned and strode out of the room, while I stood standing in shock, wondering what transgression I had performed to deserve that. Then I ed my argument with Mother. I was too stunned to move, so I stood there. A few moments later, my door creaked open. The sky outside had turned dark—so had my room, so I could only see the silhouette of my sister against the hallway light. She entered the room carrying a Ziploc baggie filled with ice. She gave it to me, and then she sneaked back out of the room, never having said a word. I laid myself back down on the bed, face down, and placed the bag of ice on my rear. I sighed in relief and silently thanked Gabby. It seemed my sister was becoming my savior. I only hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble. They didn’t call me down for dinner, for which I was immensely grateful. After dinner, Gabby stuck her head in my room. “How are you doing?” she asked. I was sitting up doing my Calculus homework. “Better. Thanks for the ice.” She smiled in reply. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a biscuit, cheese stick, and an apple. She handed them all to me. “I tried to get all the food groups. I know how important nutrition is for you right now.” “Thanks.” She watched me chew, looking thoughtful, glancing occasionally at my belly. “How did it happen, Abby?” she asked. I knew exactly what she was asking. I swallowed. “It wasn’t on purpose, that’s for sure.” “That’s not what I mean.”

I nodded. “I know.” I sighed. “Error number one, I snuck out of the house to go to Jennifer’s birthday party. Error number two, I drank too much punch because it tasted so good. Error number three, I hung out all night with Jimmy Martinez.” I grinned, and then I shook my head. “I was drunk, except I didn’t get that way on purpose. A couple of kids thought it would be funny to spike the punch. Jimmy helped me upstairs to sleep it off. He only meant to stay with me to make sure I was okay, and well….the rest is kind of blurred. I don’t most of it.” She gasped, “He raped you!” I quickly shook my head. “It wasn’t like that. He really thought I wanted it.” I hesitated. “I guess I kind of did.” I looked her in the eye. “I still believe in purity until marriage,” I told her, “and I have recommitted myself to staying pure. Jimmy has, too.” Her eyes flew open wide. “Really?” I nodded. “He’s a great guy, Gabby.” “Were you really going to give up the baby?” I smiled. “Hey, someone in this house actually referred to it as a baby,” I joked. Then I sobered. “We’ve been talking about it. I still have another year of high school after this, and Jimmy goes to college next year.” “I heard he’s getting a basketball scholarship to Duke.” “It looks like it,” I said. “Gabriella!” My mother’s voice boomed from below. I hid the food in case she decided to come up the stairs. My sister walked to the door and stuck her head into the hallway. “I’m upstairs.” “Tell the fornicator to clean the bathroom.” She shook her head, turned back to look at me. “You heard?” I laughed. “It’s gotten to the point that it’s funny,” I said. “At least my temper fit

earlier got me out of the daily scrubbing ritual.” “I don’t know how you stand it.” I rose from the bed and walked to the door. “I’m cleaning it,” I shouted down to my mother so she wouldn’t come upstairs. I heard her footsteps retreat. Gabby followed me into the bathroom. “I’ll help.” I turned and looked at her. “There’s nothing to help. This bathroom is so clean we could drink out of the toilet.” Gabby giggled, made a disgusting face, and sat on the toilet, lest anyone take me serious. “Jennifer called you this afternoon. Mom answered it. She told her to call back in six months.” “That must be when my prison term ends.” Gabby laughed despite the grave situation. I ed in. My mother walked by, saw the two of us and stopped short. “I said for Abigail to clean the bathroom.” “I’m just talking to her,” Gabby said. “This isn’t some Holiday Inn. Get your homework done.” “I’m finished.” “Then do some laundry. The work doesn’t do itself around here.” I froze. I hadn’t retrieved the hidden laptop yet. I watched Gabby pick up the hamper and walk out the door. My mother followed her down the stairs, apparently not trusting her to do the laundry. She must not have followed her far because she was back a few seconds later. She walked around the bathroom, inspecting each surface. Satisfied that the bathroom was clean enough for a visit from the queen of England, she looked at me and asked if I’d completed my homework. “I need to finish my Calculus. I was working on it when you told me to clean the bathroom.”

“Perhaps if you spent less time talking with your sister, you’d have time to finish your homework.” She regarded me thoughtfully, trying to figure out what to do with me. Honestly, if you have to think that hard for something to do, it probably doesn’t even need to be done. “Finish your homework and then come into the study for Bible study with your father and me.” She turned, not even giving me the chance to object. I’d rather take the body cleansing, I thought to myself as I watched her descend the stairs. I finished the Calculus and made my way downstairs. They both were seated in the den, waiting for me to arrive. They looked like a couple of stern schoolteachers with bad news. They wore smug expressions, conspirators in the most recent plan for my continued punishment. My father made me read scripture ages from the Bible that referred to sexuality and impropriety. I wanted to puke with each one I read. They both smiled in satisfaction as I read each verse, as if they were experiencing selfvalidation on the subject matter. Finally, it was done, and I lugged my weary body up the stairs and to my bedroom. My clean laundry was lying on my bed, compliments of my sister. I was surprised because usually we had to go into the laundry room to collect our freshly laundered clothes. I picked up a stack of shirts, intending on carrying them to my dresser, when I noticed how heavy they were. I started digging in the pile, and much to my delight, I found my laptop buried among the shirts. I grinned as I opened it. Taped inside was a note that read, I get to use it in exchange for my silence—yes this is blackmail. The note ended with a smiley face. I laughed, nearly collapsing in relief. I didn’t like lying and sneaking around. I especially didn’t like dragging my sister into it. It wasn’t as if I had a choice, though. Regardless of whether I kept the baby or not, I needed to make sure I had a healthy pregnancy, starting with getting to a doctor, and not breathing in chemical fumes. The fumes I could handle. A quick visit to the hardware store and I could buy a mask. The doctor was a bit more difficult. I had money, thanks to Jimmy, but how was I going to get there without alerting my mother? Once again, my sister came to my rescue.

I was sitting in bed reading the next day, my nightly ritual before fading into dreamland, when I heard a soft knock on my door. My sister had just come from the weekly youth-group meeting at church and was brimming with excitement. Of all the things my mother could take away from me, why youth group? Shouldn’t that have been a positive environment for me? However, mine was not to question why, as I had been told on numerous occasions. I could only speculate that my mother did not want to be embarrassed while my mid-section began to bulge. Gabby rushed through the door and literally threw herself on top of me, sending my book flying to the floor. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. She spoke to me in a hushed tone. “Pastor Greg is starting a new study group.” “So what?” I said. “I won’t be allowed to go.” “You will,” she said. “Pastor Greg is going to call Mother and ask if you can attend. The group will meet every Wednesday after school.” “And why would she be willing to listen to him?” “Because the program is on abstinence.” My mouth dropped open. I pointed to my slight, but evident bulge. “Wouldn’t that be a bit of hypocrisy?” She grinned. “Of course it will, and you know Mother, she’ll use any excuse she can to humiliate you.” “Exactly!” I exclaimed. “Why would I want to give her that satisfaction?” She smiled proudly. “Because that clinic you told me about is only three blocks from the church, and Pastor Greg said he isn’t taking role and won’t notice in the least if you miss occasionally.” I nearly leapt into her arms, hugging her as close as I could. She giggled, and then we both realized we had shared another intimate moment. We pulled back, looked at each other, and then threw our arms around each other again. “I love you, Gabby,” I said, after we broke the embrace. I reached up and

touched her beautiful, long, red hair. She smiled. “I love you, too,” she said. I knew it, but it felt so good hearing it. “I’m off to bed before Mother catches me in here.” “When does the class start?” “Two weeks,” she said. The next night at dinner Mother said, “I received a call from Pastor Greg today.” My heart started beating. I stole a glance at my sister. She grinned, slightly and I almost started to laugh. “And…” my father prompted. “They’re starting a new class on Wednesday afternoons.” She paused, waiting for someone to comment. When no one did, she continued. “It’s on the importance of abstinence.” “A little late for that, I’d say,” my father said, glaring at me. I glared back and turned red. I fought the urge to take off my purity ring and throw it at him. “Yes, I know,” my mother said. “However, it wouldn’t hurt to use her as an example.” Hurt whom? I wondered. My father nodded. “Perhaps her protruding belly will give those young ladies second thought.” Young ladies! I wanted to scream. What about all the young men? I wanted to shout at them, tell them it was all Jimmy’s fault. I couldn’t do it, though. I was falling in love with Jimmy and knew how sorry he was for what had happened. “I think we should send her,” my mother said. I was growing tired of them talking about me as if I weren’t sitting right there at

the table, but I did not dare speak up. “I agree,” my father said. “Then she goes,” my mother said. “Gabby can keep an eye on her.” She narrowed her eyes at her. “Make sure she behaves.” Gabby had been eating this whole time but stopped and looked at our parents. She shrugged. “Sure. I guess I could do that.” My heart soared. I put my hand on my belly, telepathically talking to my baby, willing it to know that I would go to any lengths to ensure a healthy pregnancy. As an added bonus, the class wasn’t all that bad. Although I did hear some snickering about me, the majority of the kids were pretty cool about it. Our church was about as fundamental as they come, and although most of the kids were okay with me sitting there among them, pregnant belly and all, some of them had been listening to their parents. One kid in particular, Wendell Jacoby, told me I had sinned and my baby would wear the mark of the devil. I believe he was going for the shock effect. What he didn’t realize, however, was that I had been living with these cruel comments for four months now. Pastor Greg handled the situation well, and by the end of the first class, kids were flocking around me asking me various questions. Had I felt the baby move yet? Did I know if it was a boy or a girl? Was I going to drop out of school? Had the sex been fun? I said, “No, no, no, and I don’t .” This last reply brought a round of laughter, which Pastor Greg quickly dispelled. I told the kids that my current condition aside, I still felt strongly about sex outside of marriage, but we all had to face the fact that we were no longer living in the stone age, and that sex outside of marriage was common place. They all agreed, except Wendell. I knew if any of these kids was going to be a thorn in my side, it was Wendell. “I’m not even thinking I want to get married,” Brittney Peters said. “Does that mean I can’t ever have sex?” “Why wouldn’t you want to get married?” Pastor Greg asked. It was a legitimate question, but obviously, he hadn’t been at the church long enough to know the

Peters family. Mr. Peters, a longtime drunk, abused his wife whenever he drank —which was usually all the time. Nobody would blame Brittney for not wanting to get married; she hadn’t had the best role models. “You’ll change your mind when you meet the right guy,” Pammy Anderson said. “Maybe,” Brittney countered, “but what if I don’t?” Pastor Greg said, “That’s a good question to ponder. Why don’t we think about it for next week? We’ll pick up there next Wednesday.” I was sorry to see the class end. The conversation was refreshing and interesting. Pastor Greg seemed like an okay guy, not like most of the authority figures at the church. When we got home, my mother and father quizzed me as if I had been in a spelling bee competition. The questions flew at me in a barrage. I couldn’t answer them fast enough. By the end of dinner that evening, I had repeated nearly every word said during the meeting. I wanted to shout at them, tell them it was none of their business what the other kids said—wasn’t I technically breaking the rules by breaking confidentiality. Mother was satisfied that I really had attended the meeting, though—and that’s what I had counted on. I skipped the next week’s meeting. Mother dropped us off just as she had the week before. However, instead of going inside, I lingered behind while Gabby made some excuse for me. I hiked on up to the corner—or rather “slinked” to the corner. Jimmy met me there, and we ran to the clinic, laughing as we spilled through the door. Jimmy had made the appointment for me, explaining to them the circumstances surrounding the urgency of time restriction. We only had two hours from the time my mother dropped me off to when she would return for me, less if she ran errands and finished up early and decided to wait in the parking lot for Gabby and me. They were waiting for me when I arrived. I thought I would be nervous, but in fact, I was excited. I was beginning to feel a little better throughout the day, and even the morning sickness had nearly disappeared. They led me to a room and asked me to disrobe, giving me a paper gown to put on instead. I asked if Jimmy could come, but they said they would bring him back after the exam. When I found out exactly what they planned on

doing to me, I was just as glad; that would have been embarrassing. The doctor was very nice and took the time to explain everything about the exam. She asked a lot of personal questions, many of which I didn’t know the answer. I didn’t even know what my grandparents looked like, let alone their health status—except my paternal grandmother, who was wonderful, freespirited…and forbidden to be in my life. The doctor just smiled. “It’s okay, many people don’t know about their grandparents,” she said. “Shall we bring the father in now?” she asked. “Sure,” I said. Jimmy came in, looking timid and far too young standing next to the doctor. It’s funny how someone can feel so grownup when they are alone, but so childish when in the presence of an adult. Jimmy smiled, putting my thoughts at ease. “Did it go okay?” he asked. I nodded. “She’s doing fine,” the doctor said. She asked Jimmy the same questions she had asked me about his family. I was amazed, and jealous, that he knew all the answers. When she had finished with the questions, she asked, “Would you like to see your baby on an ultrasound?” We looked at each other with joyful smiles, nodding excitedly. She took out a small machine that looked much like a small transistor radio. She placed it on my belly and immediately a bunch of loud thumping noises came through the tiny speaker. Jimmy laughed. “It sounds like a horse.” “That’s your baby’s heartbeat.” “Wow,” I said, in a dream-like state. Jimmy squeezed my hand, smiling at me. The doctor put some gel on my belly and pointed to a machine with a monitor on it. “Watch there,” she said. She moved the machine around, taking various pictures. It fluttered so fast it was hard to keep up. Then she stopped it, and an image appeared on the screen.

“It’s a baby,” Jimmy said. The doctor laughed. “It’s your baby.” “I know,” he said, “but it’s just so hard to believe.” “You’re in your twentieth week,” she said. Then she smiled. “Halfway done. Have you felt it move yet?” “I don’t know,” I said. “It will feel much like butterflies playing in your stomach. Do you want to know the sex?” “Yes,” Jimmy said. “No,” I said. “Why not?” Jimmy asked. “It will make it too real,” I said. I wasn’t ready for that. The mere phrase “halfway done” had thrown me for enough of a loop. I didn’t need the reality of knowing if it was a boy or girl. “We’re not keeping the baby,” I said to the doctor. “It doesn’t matter what it is.” She nodded in understanding. I looked at Jimmy, who seemed about to cry. I felt like a loser for bringing down the party. The doctor wiped my belly. “Do either of you have any questions?” I shook my head. Jimmy said nothing. I could see the tears threaten to spill from his eyes. He turned away. “I’ll want to see you back in three weeks. It will go much faster next time.” She took out a bottle of vitamins from a cupboard and handed them to me. “Take these every day. You look a little thin. Have you had much morning sickness?” “A bunch at first,” I said, “but it’s much better now.” “Good.” She looked at Jimmy. “It looks as if you have a good system.” I wanted to laugh but stayed silent. Jimmy and I locked eyes in silent

understanding. “Well then,” the doctor said, “you’ll need to have some lab tests done to make sure all is going well, but it looks good from here.” Jimmy looked at his watch. “We’d better get out of here,” he said. I climbed down from the table, losing my balance a little as I did. Jimmy caught me and steadied me. I looked into his saddened eyes and wanted to weep. “It’s okay, Jimmy,” I said—almost in a whisper. The doctor opened the door and stepped into the hallway. We followed. “I’ll see you in three weeks,” she said. She smiled and walked into another room. We made our way to the receptionist’s desk to make our appointment. The clinic worked on a sliding fee scale. I obviously didn’t have a job, and Jimmy only worked part-time at the gas station, but he took out a checkbook and started to write a check. “How much is it?” he asked. The girl at the desk looked at my file. “You qualify for free care,” she said. Jimmy shook his head. “We’ll pay.” What he really meant was “he’d pay” because I certainly didn’t have any money. The girl look flustered. “I wouldn’t even know what to charge you.” She held up the sliding fee schedule, which someone had laminated in plastic and hung from a hook on a corkboard. “I only go off this, and your income is too low to show up here.” Jimmy took the sheet from her and looked it over. “Then I’ll pay the minimum.” He wrote the check and handed it to the girl. She took it, not knowing what else to do. We walked back to the church in silence. Gone was the exuberant excitement of a few minutes ago. We had seen our baby—a baby we couldn’t possibly keep, not without screwing up the rest of our lives, anyway. And now, what we had only considered a problem before was real, a living being with a heartbeat and arms and legs, and skin, and hair—and all the things that made it a person.

The parking lot came into view. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was empty. I had made it back in time. I turned to Jimmy. “We’d better part here,” I said. He nodded and pulled me tightly against him. I savored the feel of him. In a few short minutes, I would be returning to the prison I called home and all the torment that went with it. It was obvious we both were reluctant to part, but I knew we had to. I had to get into that youth building in case my mother showed up. Also, so I could say I’d been there, and know who all was there and what the topic of the session was—for the grill session. Jimmy bent down and kissed me. Not the hard, fast kiss of lovers, but the soft gentle kind of someone you love. He walked across the street and got into his car. He waved goodbye and pulled away. I rushed into the youth center, just as they were going into wind-down mode. I prayed no one would ask me where I’d been—I didn’t really want to lie, especially not in the house of God. I slid into place next to my sister. She pressed a pad of paper into my hand. I looked down at it. Blessedly, she had taken notes. I looked at the clock. I had ten minutes to learn what I supposedly had said for the afternoon. I smiled at Gabby. She smiled back, and I went to work cramming.

Later that evening, she slipped into bed beside me when the last light in the house had gone dark. “How was it?” she whispered. “Oh, Gabby, it was wonderful. The doctor said I was in great health. We even got to hear the heartbeat.” I giggled. “It sounds just like a horse.” My voice grew softer as I said, “I saw it move, Gabs. It looks just like a miniature person.” “And Jimmy…how did he do?” “He’s a wreck. I’m so worried about how he’s going to part with the baby when the time comes.”

She was silent for a minute. “You don’t have to, you know; it’s a choice.” “I can’t, Gabs. I just can’t bring a child into this house.” She didn’t say anything after that, just slipped from my bed, and a few seconds later, I heard the door open and close. I couldn’t have felt any lonelier.

Chapter Ten

David

I Betty’s first ultrasound. She wasn’t very far along in her pregnancy when she had it done. I think they did it for pregnancy validation. It was exciting, nonetheless. I ed thinking, our baby…our tiny little human speck on a monitor, and it was oh so perfect. Unlike Jimmy and Abby, though, we had been elated. We knew we would hold that speck someday and were elated at the prospect. I was with her the first time she felt our son move. It was before the second ultrasound, when we found out we were having a son. She was lying on the couch watching some old sappy, love story. I never understood why women love to watch those things; they only make them cry. However, she was there watching it. I was sitting by the window looking out at the sea, which happens to be my front yard. I was writing my weekly sermon and having a difficult time with it. It was right about the time I noticed things going stale at church: The whispering gossip, the “too busy to do anything” syndrome to which so many congregations seem to fall victim. I was trying to figure out how I could spice things up when Betty suddenly let out a loud yell. I rushed to her side thinking something was wrong. “It moved, David! The baby moved.” “Are you sure?” I asked. “I’m sure,” she said, and grabbed my hand and put it on her belly. “There. Did you feel it?” Sadly, I shook my head. “It must be too little for me to feel yet,” I said. She looked disappointed. “I really wanted you to feel it.” I had smiled. “We can’t rush things, dear. They’ll come in their own time.”

I thought about that time in our life. It seemed so long ago, but was only in fact a few short months ago. I looked over at Betty, now, round as a house, the impending birth only minutes away. Her pregnancy had been a time of discovery and excitement for us both. We filled our house with so much love and hope that nothing could tear it down. I ached for the two young kids forced to give up something so precious. I was growing more intrigued by the moment. Obviously, Abby hadn’t given up the baby; she was there in the car with her, but what had happened to Jimmy? He had seemed so ive of her. Certainly, he wouldn’t have walked out on her just because she decided to keep the baby, would he? Who knows what a young man might do when the threat of his future was on the line. “You kept the baby,” I said to Abby. “I had to,” she said. “My mother wouldn’t let me give it away.” “Did you want to, Abby?” She was silent for a few moments. Then I heard her cry. “I love her.” Between sobs she said, “She’s all I have left of Jimmy.” I went out on a limb. “You don’t really want to take your own life, do you, Abby?” “I don’t want to live without him,” she said. “I don’t want to live with them anymore.” I scribbled on a piece of paper. We need to find Jimmy, fast! Then I added, any luck finding the sister? I thrust the note at Minerva with more vigor than I had intended. She read the note, picked up a pen, and wrote, Campers aren’t allowed phone calls. I left a message for the youth pastor, using your name. The group was on a day hike, but they promised to have him call the minute they returned. I poked the note, indicating Jimmy’s name. Minerva shook her head. She took back the note, scrawled on it and ed it

back. Nobody seems to know what happened to him. Some say he went off to college. One person said he died. I went cold, Abby’s earlier comment coming back to me, “Jimmy’s gone.” Either one of these scenarios would fit that comment. Based upon what Abby had been telling me all night, Jimmy didn’t strike me as the type to abandon her. Could he really be dead? I wrote another note. Check funeral notices over the past year. She read the note and ran off to perform the task. I turned my attention back to Abby, thinking again about the first time I had felt my son move inside his mother. “Did Jimmy ever feel Grace move inside you?” I asked. She laughed. “It was so funny. You would have thought someone shot him by the look on his face. He had taken to sneaking into my room at night. We were lying on my bed. It was all innocent, though. We never had sex aside from that one time.” “Did your parents ever find out about this?” She grew silent for a moment, and then I could hear her deep, painful sigh.

Abby

I went to the next two meetings at the youth center. I was really developing quite a bulge by then and drew stares throughout the meeting. I covered it up with bulky sweaters and loose tops, but people who really knew me well could tell. Every week my mother quizzed me about what took place at the meeting. I eagerly told her, letting her know, in no uncertain , that I was really getting a lot out of the meetings. Gabby didn’t like them and expressed this feeling to me on several occasions. I begged her to keep going for the sake of the baby. One day, after the meeting, while we were waiting for our mother, Gabby said, “I don’t know why we all

keep showing up here week after week. It’s not as if anyone is taking what Pastor Greg says seriously. I mean, really, some of the kids are making out in the bathroom at break time.” “Please, Gabby. You have to keep going.” “I didn’t say I was going to stop,” she protested. “I just said I didn’t like the meetings. They’re phony and fixed.” “I know,” I said, “as if kids these days really behave that way.” I was thinking about one of the videos we watched in which two teenagers said things like, “May I hold your hand?” Or, “Is it all right if I walk you home?” In today’s world, the kids would have just grabbed the person’s hand and assumed the other person would be blessed to have him walk her home. We both laughed so hard we had to lean against the side of the building to stay upright. Truthfully, I was getting something out of them. In all honesty, the meetings were great—based too much on the past lives of teenagers—but informative nonetheless. I couldn’t help but think that if kids still behaved that way, maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation. Sex in my generation was popular, no big deal, a way to express ones freedom. In our meetings they pushed abstinence, but for all the wrong reasons. Instead of giving us the idea to honor and respect our bodies, and ourselves, they made us think it was only wrong because it was a sin against God. How many times can a person listen to that? “They should get with the times,” Gabby said. “Nobody does virgin anymore.” I looked at Gabby with shock on my face. She grinned. “Gabby!” I exclaimed. “Have you…” “No,” she said, matter-of-factly, shrugging her shoulders, “but it doesn’t mean I wouldn’t—if the opportunity presented itself.” She looked at my belly, swelling under my loose top. “I wouldn’t let that happen, though.” Her words stung and I saw an expression of regret on her face. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.” I nodded as my eyes watered. Blessedly, my mother’s car came into sight, putting a stop to our conversation.

She pulled up to the curb beside the youth center and Gabby and I climbed in, she in the front—shotgun seat, and I in the back. “Well girls, did you learn anything tonight?” Gabby and I exchanged looks. “Yeah,” I said. “Expect the unexpected.” “What does that mean?” My mother asked. Gabby and I stifled giggles. “Hey, Mom,” Gabby said, distracting her. “I’ve been invited to Melissa’s birthday party on Saturday. Is it okay if I go?” “She’s a good choice in a friend,” my mother said, eyeing me in the rearview mirror, making her point clear. “Of course, you may go—that is, after I clear it with her mother.” “Why of course, Mother. “ Gabby smiled. I wanted to puke. When I had asked to go to Jennifer’s party, She had flatly and undeniably told me no. Yet, here Gabby was eagerly planning to go to Melissa’s party. I looked down at my swollen belly. Then again, look what happened to me. Still, who’s to say something like this couldn’t happen at a good “Christian” girl’s party. “Of course that answer only applies to Gabriella,” my mother emphasized, looking again at me in the rearview mirror. We were nearing the freeway exit that would take us to our street. I couldn’t wait to get home and out of the car. “I wasn’t even invited,” I said. “Well, of course you weren’t invited. Nobody wants a harlot at their party.” It was dark in the car, but a faint light glowing from the street lamps illuminated my mother’s wicked smile. Likewise, it showed the shocked look on Gabby’s face. I said nothing, just shook my head and leaned it back against the seat, praying God would take me right then. I rubbed a hand over my belly and willed my baby to know that I would love him or her no matter what happened. My mother pulled the car into the garage and I dashed for the door. I flew into the house, taking the stairs two at a time.

“See to your homework,” my mother called after me. “And be downstairs in one hour to peel potatoes for dinner.” I didn’t answer her, just shut my door hard and threw myself on the bed, twisting my body to avoid crushing my baby. That’s when I felt her move for the first time. It felt as if she were offering comfort, promising that somebody loved me. I sat upright, grabbed my belly and hugged myself. “Oh my God,” I said, smiling with glee. I ran to the other side of the bed and retrieved my laptop from its hiding place. I was so excited that I could barely type out Jimmy’s email address. With shaky fingers, I managed to get my message typed. I pressed send and waited, my toes tapping as I danced on the tips of them. After five minutes nothing came. I was just about to give up when his reply came back: Jimmy: OMG are you kidding me? How did it feel? Me: Like butterflies dancing in my stomach! Jimmy: I wish I could feel it! Me: You will someday, when the baby is a little stronger. Jimmy: I need to see you. Me: Come to the back door at ten. I heard someone coming up the stairs. I signed off, slammed the laptop shut, shoved it back under the bed, and pulled out my Calculus book just in time. My mother opened the door—without knocking, and found me sitting on my bed with my Calculus book in my hand, opened to a page that we hadn’t even come to yet. She didn’t have to know that, though. She smiled. “Just checking,” she said. “Potatoes in thirty minutes.” She shut the door. I didn’t dare risk opening the computer again, so I delved into my Calculus homework. It was a review section, so I worked the problems quickly. Thirty minutes later, I was standing in front of the sink peeling potatoes. My

sister cut them and put them in the pan. We did this wordlessly as our mother hovered nearby—pretending to be busy. We finished the potatoes and set the table. My father walked in the door just as we were setting down the condiments. He sat down in his seat. Mother gave him a publicly acceptable kiss, and took her place beside him. I was the last to take my seat. Perhaps I was waiting to see if I was allowed to sit down. When no one said anything, I sat. “Gabby, will you say the blessing this evening?” My mother asked. “Make sure you include prayers for your sister,” she added, as if I weren’t sitting right next to her. Gabby looked at me. I shrugged. I was the first to it I needed extra prayers. We all bowed our heads. “Bless us Lord for this food we are about to receive, and for the hard work that went into preparing this meal.” She hesitated, and then added, “Bless Abby and her baby.” “And her sinful ways,” my mother added. I shook my head, wondering why she hadn’t just said the blessing herself. As usual, my mother played the twenty questions game about our meeting. I answered every question to her satisfaction. She rewarded me with an extra dose of Bible study, while Gabby watched an hour of television. Some people might have had sibling rivalry over the unfair treatment of my sister and me, but I knew it wasn’t Gabby’s doing. I held no grudge. I recited every verse my mother told me to and scurried off to bed without dessert. When I got to my room, I lay down on my back and waited for the next kick. To my disappointment, I only felt one more flutter the entire evening. I finished my homework. Most of the rest of it was reading, so I was able to do it while I was waiting for baby kicks. At 9:45 I heard my parents walk upstairs. I knew if there was anything I could count on, it was the fact that my parents were creatures of habit. They ended their Bible study at 9:30 every night. They checked and double-checked all the

doors; my mother did not trust anyone. By 10:00 p.m. they would be in their bed. I heard the water running at 9:50 (teeth brushing time). This would last exactly two minutes. Sure enough, I heard the water turn off at the precise moment. I gave them ten minutes to get into bed and then I snuck downstairs. Fortunately, Mother and Father were frugal and didn’t see any sense in paying out good money for an alarm system. “God will punish the wicked,” Mother would often say. Nor did she believe in owning a dog as protection—given that it might dirty up the house or spread some awful disease. This meant I was able to open the back door without detection and let Jimmy inside. We crept up to my bedroom, closing the door softly behind us. Jimmy immediately put his hand on my belly. I laughed. “I don’t think you can feel it move yet. Only I can.” He looked disappointed but kept his hand there nonetheless. “You can really feel it moving inside you?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said. “It’s the weirdest feeling.” I was twenty-four weeks along now, and Jimmy and I both were amazed at how fast the pregnancy was going. None of my clothes fit anymore. I had taken to leaving my jeans open to make room for my expanding belly. Jimmy offered to buy me some maternity clothes, but I couldn’t let him do that. Then Mother would know we were seeing each other. Jimmy was the one who came up with the idea of me getting a job. “I know this really nice guy,” he said. “He owns the Ice Cream Palace, and he’s looking for some after-school help. If you worked two afternoons a week, we could see each other there. I could help you at the counter. Then I could buy you some clothes and you can save your money. Your mother wouldn’t know where the money came from. ” I pitched the idea to Mother. She balked at first but then warmed to the idea. “Hard work is just the thing to keep you out of trouble,” she said. Jimmy secured the job. The man turned out to be a real sweet man, despite his bear-like size, and I loved working and making money. The atmosphere was fun. I even got to know some of Jimmy’s friends and found that I actually liked them.

Of course, they didn’t know I was pregnant with Jimmy’s baby. Nobody knew I was having Jimmy’s baby. If anyone guessed it was Jimmy’s child, they didn’t say it to me. Jimmy bought me a new pair of maternity pants and two tops the first week. My mother took them and inspected them. She eyed them suspiciously. I quickly said, “Mr. Pinkerton gave me an advance, and I made some tips this week.” Satisfied that I was paying my own way, she returned the clothes to me without a word. It felt good to breathe again. On Sunday of that week, I walked into church and all eyes turned toward me. “Why are they staring at me?” I whispered to Gabby. “You’re the devil incarnate,” she whispered back, a slight chuckle in her voice. “Very funny,” I said and jabbed her in the ribs. She giggled and whispered again, “You look pregnant. I guess Mom’s ‘dirty little secret’ is out of the bag.” Throughout the service, people kept turning to stare at me, as if they couldn’t believe their eyes. I had to hand it to my mother, though—she held her head proud—never once succumbing to their curious, questioning stares. After church, my mother skipped the usual frivolities and marched me straight up to the pastor. She didn’t take me to the youth pastor, who had become used to my growing figure, but the “real pastor” who was shocked to see my pregnant form. “Abigail needs some special prayers,” Mother said smugly. He was standing with his back to the window, and the light streaming through the stained-glass windows gave him an eerie green color. I cringed. The alien pastor, I couldn’t help thinking. “So I see,” the pastor responded. “It appears someone has been playing in the Devil’s playground and got burned.” I made every effort to prevent eye rolling, but it was not completely possible. To

distract myself, I looked around, noticing I was still the object of scrutiny by the low crowd of people still mingling after the service. What was wrong with them? Was I their only source of entertainment for the day? Was my personal life really their business? I didn’t know what they were gawking at. I was twenty-six weeks by then, showing I it, but hardly rolling down the aisles. I had a nice, round, little basketball, barely visible underneath my maternity shirt. It was enough, though, given my usually trim figure. “You have her doing penance?” the pastor asked. “Yes,” my mother said, “isolation and scripture reading.” “What about cleansing of the body?” he asked. “Oh yes, that too,” she added. He nodded, as if agreeing, and rubbed his chin in thoughtful consideration. “Denial of comforts?” My mother nodded this time. “Only what’s necessary to sustain the body. I was forced to let her return to school, though.” “Interference by the system?” “They threatened to send their hound dogs on me.” I flashed back to the day my mother had received the phone call, and I was sent back to school. I couldn’t help but smile, which didn’t go unnoticed by the pastor. He shook his head. “May I have a word alone with her?” “Certainly,” my mother said. I followed him to his office, while Mother ran off to invoke sympathy from all her nosey friends. I had never been in his office before, and I have to say it was a little like visiting the principal’s office. It was dark and dreary with thousands of books standing at the ready, waiting for someone to pick up their dusty carcass’s

and read them. Please, God, I prayed, don’t let him force his stuffy old books on me. He gestured toward a really old chair that looked kind of rickety and suggested I sit in it. I judged its sturdiness. Should a woman in her twenty-sixth week of pregnancy really sit in that? “I’ll stand, thank you,” I said. He didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken. “Well, now, Abigail. It looks as if you’ve gone and displeased the Lord.” “I don’t know about God,” I said, “but I sure pissed off my parents.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it, but I couldn’t help it. I was growing weary of people treating me as if I had performed the greatest sin of all time. I was human and made a mistake—so what! He looked shocked by my words and immediately bowed his head and prayed for me. When he finished, he looked up—having recovered from his shock. “So, Abigail,” he tried again, “what have you learned from all of this?” I knew very well the words he expected me to say, and I might have made my life a bit easier if I had said them. But wasn’t this church, I reasoned. Aren’t I supposed to tell the truth in the house of the Lord? The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Use birth control?” If I thought he had looked shocked at my last comment, I was sadly mistaken. Because the look currently on his face was the look of incredulity—the ultimate shock. He heaved a huge sigh and said another prayer, long this time. Then he started quoting Bible scriptures about sinning, fornication, respecting thy parents—for which I returned one of my own. “Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” I, too, had been reading the Bible and was becoming familiar with it. “Are you familiar with the Scarlet Letter?” he asked. “I am,” I said. “We studied it in school.” “You’ve sinned against the Lord, Abigail. Now you must wear your pregnancy like a scarlet letter, so all your peers will know you have sinned and will learn from your sin.”

“My mistake, you mean.” “I mean your sin, Abigail. And when the baby is born, we will pray over his soul and baptize him with holy water.” “You aren’t doing any such thing with this child,” I said. “I’m giving the baby up for adoption, so he or she can live in a home filled with love—not hatred and mockery.” He shook his head. “You cannot give away a child, Abigail. The child is not yours to give. It belongs to God.” I stared numbly at him. I will it I was at a loss for words. He rose and walked to the door. “If you’ll excuse us, Abigail, I’ll speak with your mother now.” I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I dashed for the door, throwing myself in the armchair residing outside his office door. Mother barely gave me a glance as she ed me on her way into the pastor’s office. I’m not ashamed to it I eavesdropped on their conversation; it did, after all, involve me. I heard the words “non-repentant” and “intervention” but little else. I never heard my mother speak and knew she was being “told” what to do with me. She walked out of his office and we left. She said very little on the way home. My father sat meekly in the driver’s seat—oblivious, or at least unresponsive to the occasional jab my mother would make. I went immediately to my room when we arrived home, skipping lunch. I was hungry but too fed up with Mother to spend another moment in her presence. My room, although bare of any frivolities, was becoming my sanctuary. My father didn’t believe in spending any of his hard-earned money on eye pleasures. My room consisted of one twin bed with a simple bedspread on it, a dresser—void of any decoration, a desk for my homework, and a nightstand with a lamp and a Bible on it. The only thing decorating the walls was a picture of the Lord. There was one of these in every bedroom. I don’t know if Mother hung them there as a reminder, or if she thought the constant presence of the Lord might make us behave better. Even the window had plain-white blinds. My sister knocked on my door awhile later. I opened it to find her standing there

with a sandwich in her hand. “Mother said you need to eat, for the baby.” I grabbed the sandwich and went back to brooding on my bed. Gabby entered the room and sat down next to where I was lying. I could tell she wanted to say something, but I could also tell she didn’t want to say it. “What?” I asked. She sighed. “Have you given any thought to appeasing Mother, instead of fighting her? It might make the pregnancy easier.” I stared at her as if she were Benedict Arnold. “I’m only thinking about the baby,” she protested. “Are you?” I asked. “Or do you just want things to return to the way they used to be? Because let me tell you something—as normal as you might think our life has been—it hasn’t been normal at all. That church is wicked.” Gabby lowered her shoulders and narrowed her eyes at me. “Wicked, Abby?” “They want to steal my baby!” She shook her head. “We’ve gone to that church our whole lives. They aren’t wicked,” she protested. “They’ve been brainwashing us our whole lives,” I protested. “You really think they want to steal your baby?” The baby kicked me then, and I jumped. “What’s the matter?” Gabby asked, genuine concern in her eyes. I smiled. “The baby’s moving.” “Really?” She grinned. “Can I feel?” I took her hand and placed it on my belly. She waited a minute. I smiled again. “Did you feel it?” She shook her head. Then a huge grin broke out across her face. “I feel it! Oh my God, Abby, that’s amazing.”

I grinned. “Isn’t it though? I’ve been feeling it for a few weeks.” The smile left her face. “What?” I asked. “I’m just wondering how you can feel that inside you and still want to give it away.” I removed her hand from my belly and stood up. I walked to my dresser, pretending to look for something. “It’s no big deal,” I said, keeping my back to her so she wouldn’t see the lie. “This is me, Abby; your sister. The one you tell all your secrets to. I know when you’re lying.” I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at her. “I would rather strangers bring up my baby, than those monsters who call themselves parents.” I slammed the dresser drawer and walked out of the bedroom, leaving my sister sitting on my bed. I went into the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I could see the pregnancy changes, even if nobody else could. I saw tears beginning to form. Angrily, I wiped them away. “I will not cry over them,” I said aloud. I sat on the toilet, trying to collect myself before making my way downstairs. I was hoping to use Jennifer as a ruse and ask permission to go over and cram for a history exam that I didn’t really have. I opened the door just as Gabby was about to knock. We stared into each other’s eyes. “Sorry” was written all over both our faces. We hugged, and that was all that was needed. I heard someone coming up the stairs and we quickly pulled apart, just as Mother was coming around the corner. She looked sternly at us. “Abigail, we need you downstairs.” I walked past Gabby, looking at her with questioning eyes. She shook her head and shrugged. I followed behind my mother. She went into the living room. I knew it must be serious because we never used the living room for anything

except entertaining guests—which was rare. There was a chair sitting in the center of the room and a dozen or so people standing around it. I recognized Mr. and Mrs. Kent, Mr. and Mrs. Simmons— they were the parents of Jacob Simmons, who sat in front of me in Chemistry, the pastor I just smart-mouthed only a few hours before, Mr. and Mrs. Washington, and the Madison family, complete with their eight-year-old son, Anthony. I had babysat for them on multiple occasions. Everyone else I recognized but did not know personally. “What’s going on here?” I asked. “It’s a prayer session,” my father said. “Pastor Morgan thinks it might help. Your mother and I agree.” “Come sit down, Abigail,” Pastor Morgan said. “We’re not going to hurt you.” I turned to leave, actually making it five steps before my father grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the chair. “Let go of me!” I spat, but he held me firmly, putting both his hands on my shoulders after he forced me into the chair. I saw Gabby hovering near the stairs. My mother saw her, too. “Come us, Gabriella,” she urged. I saw anger flash in my sister’s eyes before she turned and fled the room. “She’s shy,” my mother said, putting on her best smile. “She prays with us every night for her sister’s soul.” There were murmurings of understanding, and then the pastor began. At first, it was just a bunch of chanting and praising. Then Pastor Morgan said, “Oh Heavenly Father, we ask that you bless this child and drive the evil forces out of her. She, who has opened her heart to the devil and let him have his way with her, needs your forgiveness. Bring her back into your fold, cast out the demon from her and her child.” There were shouts of, “Amen,” after nearly every word he said. I just felt sick to my stomach.

They all put their hands on my head and my shoulders. I squirmed, trying to throw off all the hands, but they held me more firmly. Then the pastor said, “Bless this demon child, Heavenly Father. He knows not the sins of his mother and father, cast out the devil in him and accept him into your fold. Do not let the child be born wicked. We will help the child see the truth of his parents’ sinning ways.” Then all the hands reached down and touched my belly, shouting, “Amen Lord, save her Lord, Amen Lord, save her Lord. Amen Lord, save her Lord.” I screamed, trying with all my might to squirm free, thrashing my arms in a hopeless attempt to throw off their hands. I screamed again and again, my flailing arms colliding with various body parts of my accs, but it only made them chant louder. Then the pastor knelt down in front of me. He was so close I could smell his sour breath. “Sinner!” he shouted, and all the others starting shouting “Sinner, sinner, sinner.” I screamed and a hand clamped over my mouth. I shook my head from side to side, but the hand didn’t let go. The group shouted louder, “Sinner, sinner, sinner.” I heard my mother shout, “Fornicator.” Then the group changed their chant, ing her, “Fornicator, fornicator, fornicator.” Then the pastor’s face came closer, drowning me with poisoned breath. “Drive out the devil, good Lord.” Then the group repeated, “Drive him out, drive him out.” I was going crazy with fear, thrashing wildly in a vain attempt to escape. That is when my sister rushed into the room, shouting, “Stop it! Leave her alone!” Thrown off by surprise, they all turned, freeing their hands. Gabby grabbed my arm and pulled me close to her. She rushed me out of the room and up the stairs. She made her way to the bathroom and slammed and locked the door. I cried against her as she smoothed my hair and uttered soothing words into my ear. The whole experience had been horrific, a dozen cockroaches crawling on my head, chirping in my ear. I suffered nightmares for weeks afterward. To this day, I cringe when a stranger touches me.

That was the last time my sister was allowed to speak to me; I was a bad influence.

Chapter Eleven

David

I started crying during this part of her story. I knew there were extremist churches out there. We studied about them in seminary. Self-proclaimed preachers who studied the Bible and thought they had all the answers often ran these churches. They manipulated their parishioners into following their sadistic thoughts and behaviors. What Abby needed at that time in her life was love and from both her own family, and her church family. Instead, they made her feel dirty, cheap…and alone. I also mourned the loss of her sister’s friendship and love, and wondered how she had fared without that lifeline. Wiping my eyes on a handkerchief, I said, “Do you need another break, Abby?” “I need to feed the baby,” she said. “The youth center is still open,” I said, “if you want to do it in comfort.” “Okay,” she said, after a brief hesitation. I saw the car light come on again and watched Abby dash to the youth center, cradling the small baby against her. I knew I was going to get only one chance to make her trust religion, and I was scared to death. I started praying. I prayed for wisdom, patience, truth, and forgiveness. Most of all, I prayed for guidance. What I needed was for God to put the right words into my mouth. I put down the phone and dashed into my office, slamming the door behind me. I paced feverishly. I could see my followers waiting anxiously, staring at me through the glass window that separated my office from the main office— looking at me as if I had all the answers, counting on me to be the hero. I threw my hands up in frustration. “I don’t know everything,” I wailed. I found my wife’s eyes through the glass and read her . She had

confidence in me, even if I didn’t have any in myself. “I love you,” she mouthed. I smiled. They all went back to their picnic, and if it hadn’t been for the large lump in the pit of my heart, I might think this was any other church meeting. I thought about last night’s meeting again, and about the meeting that should have been taking place right about then. The problems facing us, the ones we continually squabbled about, seemed so trivial compared to what Abby was going through. I saw line two light up, saw Minerva move to answer it, then wave frantically at me to pick it up. “Hello,” I said. “This is Pastor Greg Hickman from the New Order of Christian Saints. I had an urgent message to call this number.” “Yes, Pastor Hickman. I left that message. Thanks for getting back so quickly. I’m Pastor David Owens from New Hope Christian Church. I have one of your parishioners here who’s in a bad way. I’m hoping you can shed a little more light on the situation.” “I’ll try. Who is it?” “Abby.” “Abigail Stein?” he asked with a start. “Yes, I think that’s her.” “Petite brunette about sixteen?” I hesitated. “I’m not sure. I haven’t actually met her face-to-face.” He seemed at a loss for words, so I helped him along. “I was just clo for the day when the phone rang. It was Abby on the line. She’s in my parking lot, threatening to kill herself….” I paused for dramatics, hoping it would help the situation sink in. I wasn’t trying to accuse the man of lousy pastoring, but honestly, I didn’t see how this girl’s desperate situation could have ed his notice. “She has a baby with her. Her sister’s name is Gabriella.” The line went silent for a minute, and then I heard a huge sigh. “I was afraid it

might come to this. You said Grace is with her?” I was dumbfounded. “You saw this coming and did nothing about it?” “No. That’s not quite true.” His tone was defensive. “I tried talking to her parents. They just brushed me off.” He sighed again. “With all due respect, these kids would be lost without me.” I didn’t want to involve myself in a debate with him over the extent of his pastoral duties, so I just said, “Can you find her sister for me?” “Her sister is in lockdown right now.” “Lockdown?” I questioned. “What did she do?” I was beginning to think breathing was a sin with this group. He sighed again. “I mean her group is in lockdown. She didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a spiritual cleansing of her soul. No outside is permitted or the cleansing cycle is broken and has to start all over.” I thought about the ritualistic cleansing of a woman after her menses back in the days of the Old Testament and shuddered. “This is very important,” I stressed. “So is the cleansing,” he argued. “I would lose my job if I broke it.” I fell into stunned silence. Pastor Hickman obviously sensed my awe because he said, “I know this sounds harsh, but you don’t understand the ways of this church. If I did as you request, Gabriella’s soul would remain unclean and she would pay retribution.” “In what form?” I asked. “Banishment and isolation for starters.” he said, “And then her soul would need to be cleansed by the laying on of the hands from the church elders. For the youth, that can be traumatic.” “So I’ve heard,” I retorted. He sighed again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For the record, I don’t agree with any of the stuff they do at this church.”

“Then why are you there?” I asked. “For the kids,” he said. “Someone has to help them.” “Just how did you help Abby?” I asked a bit too sharply. “Abigail’s case is extreme. Most of the kids don’t get treated so harshly.” “Then why does Abby get to be the lucky one?” “Her father’s a deacon—he’s using Abigail as an example.” “Have you ever thought of turning them in to the authorities?” “Unfortunately, they are protected by freedom of religious practices. They haven’t beaten their kids, starved them, or molested them. Have you taken an idealistic look at the foster care system these days?” It was a rhetorical question that I didn’t feel obliged to answer. Minerva waved at me, pointing to the parking lot. I saw Abby returning to her car. “I have to go,” I said—realizing he wasn’t going to help me. “One more question, though. Can you tell me where I can find Jimmy, the baby’s father?” He cleared his throat, paused, and then said, “I’m sorry to say this but, Jimmy’s dead.” My breath caught in my throat, choking me. “What did you say?” I asked, wheezing out the words. I heard him sigh. “Jimmy Martinez died in a car accident five months ago.” I staggered backward, literally, knocking over a stack of books that someone had been shelving. “How?” I asked. “Nobody knows for sure. His car went off the side of a cliff.” I wondered why that information was not public knowledge. Minerva certainly should have been able to come up with something that drastic. “He died two months before his daughter was born.”

“It makes more sense now,” I said. “That’s why Abby is so desperate.” “I begged her family to seek help for her but they declined. They said the good Lord would help her grieve.” He paused before adding, “Then they said God was looking out for their daughter by taking the sinner away from her presence.” I gasped, unable—or unwilling—to believe any parent would think that way. I thanked the young pastor and extended a blessing before hanging up the receiver. I opened the door and walked out to the outer office. “Jimmy’s dead,” I said, my voice low, teeming with sadness. My “audience” as I had come to think of them, made a collective gasp. Minerva did a slow headshake, started to open her mouth, closed it again, and then bolted from the room. I walked over to the phone and picked it up. “Abby, are you there?” I heard some rifling noises, heard the baby make a cooing noise, then crackling sounds as Abby picked up the receiver. She made some more noise that sounded as if she were shifting positions and then said, “I’m here.” I said, “Tell me about Jimmy. What was he like?” I cringed at my choice of verbs, should I have said, “Is?” Abby didn’t seem to notice as she picked up her tale.

Abby

Jimmy was fun, full of laughter and practical jokes. Once, when I was about six months pregnant and my belly had begun to look like I swallowed ten balloons, he played patty cake with the baby. We were lying on my bed, after bedtime, of course. Jimmy had started making nightly visits to see the baby and me. I would unlatch the door for him after the

final lights out. He would sneak up to my room and lie on the bed with me. He loved to feel the baby kicking. He said it was the most spectacular thing he had ever felt. I, of course, was no longer able to hide the pregnancy from anyone. The school nurse was great, giving me pamphlets to read, checking up on my diet, exercise…things like that. I really appreciated it because now that the sexuality course was over, I no longer had access to a physician. One day, Jimmy came and got me from History class. “Mrs. Lathrop wants to see us,” he said. I looked puzzled. “Why does the school nurse want to see both of us?” “I don’t know,” Jimmy said, as he shoved the note summoning us to the office into my hand. I looked at my History teacher, who waved me out the door. We walked into the office filled with trepidation. She was standing near the outer counter. Wendy hovered in the background. When Wendy spied the two of us standing there, Jimmy’s hand clasping mine, her mouth fell open. I had yet to reveal to anyone, except the nurse, who the father of my baby was, which meant I took all the teasing and disgusted looks myself. I had no doubt, though, that by the end of the day at least half the school would know. I was pretty sure a good handful of them suspected but didn’t want to it Jimmy would have fallen for plain-Jane-me. They all expected Jimmy to be with some cheerleader—not some religious freak. Mrs. Lathrop smiled. “I have something for the two of you,” she said. “A little gift, you might say.” Jimmy and I looked confused as we followed her into her office. She indicated to Jimmy to take a seat. To me she asked that I lie down on the bench where kids who didn’t feel well, but weren’t sick enough to go home, usually waited out whatever ailment rendered them unable to sit in a classroom. She took out a box from her desk and began unpacking it. I recognized instantly the fetal heart rate machine the clinic used. She turned it on and put it on my

belly. Jimmy and I both beamed grins as the sound we loved to hear came from the machine. “I could get into trouble for this,” she said, “so I’m expecting us to keep this just between us.” Jimmy and I both nodded emphatically. “That said, I want you to promise me you will call a doctor or go to the hospital if you have any signs of bleeding, fainting, drastic decrease in the baby’s movements, sudden headaches —OR,” she empathized, “you just feel something is wrong.” She handed me the machine. “It’s for you. The heart rate should be somewhere between 110 and 160. You call a doctor if it varies from that.” “I will,” I promised. “And I want you to come in here for regular blood pressure checks, every week. Got it?” We both nodded. “Thank you, Mrs. Lathrop,” Jimmy said. His eyes filled with gratitude and pleasure. She shook her head. “No thanks are needed.” She looked us over. “Have you two decided what you’re going to do about this baby?” I spoke up quickly, “We’re giving it up for adoption.” She looked from me to Jimmy, who stood beside me, silent. “Public or private?” “What’s the difference?” Jimmy asked. We hadn’t talked about this before. Every time I tried to bring up the subject, Jimmy would tense and look away. I was beginning to get concerned about his attachment to our baby. She sighed. “Do you two have anyone helping you?” I looked down at the ground. “My parents aren’t being very cooperative.” I wasn’t about to tell her they bordered on abusive. “My parents don’t know yet.” “At all,” I corrected. “I don’t see any reason to upset them about this. It’s not like they get to really be grandparents or anything.”

I saw Jimmy lower his head, flinch, and flush in embarrassment. “My mother’s a devout Catholic. This would crush her,” he said. Mrs. Lathrop nodded. “There’s no way me talking to either set of parents would help?” “No,” I emphatically stated. She pleaded, “You need medical care.” “It’s against my parents’ religious beliefs,” I lied, knowing the school couldn’t interfere with religious convictions. She nodded again. “Come back and see me for those blood pressure checks.” “Thanks,” I said. I held up the heartbeat monitor. “And thanks for this, too. You have no idea how much this means to us.” “Yeah, thanks.” Jimmy added. Jimmy and I made our way to the lunch quad. I was starving and couldn’t wait to sink my teeth into my plain ole’ boring peanut butter sandwich. Multiple sets of eyes already watched us as we made our way along the corridor. “People are staring,” Jimmy said. “So what,” I said. “People have been staring for weeks.” If I were to be truthful about it, it really hurt my feelings, but I wasn’t going to burden Jimmy with that knowledge. “Just keep your eyes straight ahead and it doesn’t hurt as much.” “I’m sorry,” he said. I sighed and shook my head. “You have to stop apologizing. There’s nothing either of us can do now except see this through to the end.” I picked up his hand and squeezed it. “You have no idea how much I appreciate you for sticking by me through this. If it weren’t for you, I’d be so alone.” Jimmy kissed my hand and went off to the lunch line, while I stretched out on the grass, thankful to be off my weary feet. I closed my eyes, savoring the sun.

“OMG, Devon, look who got herself preggers.” Devon giggled. “Well, Shannon, I guess that’s one way of hooking a guy.” “She has no shame, neither,” Shannon said. “She’s ruining his basketball career.” I looked up and saw Devon Barrett and Shannon Riley hovering over me. “What do you guys want?” I asked. Shannon sneered at me. “You’re ruining Jimmy’s life. You should just fade away.” They turned and stalked off, not waiting for a reply from me. When Jimmy came back, he had a slice of pizza and a juice for me. I looked at my sandwich and knew I should eat it for the protein, but I was stinging so badly from Shannon’s and Devon’s comments that I tore into the pizza with a vengeance. “Wow,” Jimmy said. “You really are hungry.” I sighed, slowed my chewing and tried to smile. “Yeah, I guess so,” I said. We fell silent, and I started thinking again about Shannon’s comment. I didn’t think I was ruining Jimmy’s life; after all, it wasn’t as if we were keeping the baby. I kept telling myself this, yet I had not made a single move to an adoption agency. Mrs. Lathrop had asked about a private or a public adoption. Yet, I hadn’t even made one step toward making that decision. That night, after Jimmy snuck into my room, I lay there beside him, squeezed onto my twin bed, thinking about the question. We had fallen into this nightly ritual. I would get ready for bed, unlock the door for Jimmy, and then get into bed. Jimmy would lie down beside me, on top of the covers, and lay there with his hand on my belly, waiting for the baby to kick. I the first time the baby kicked Jimmy’s hand. He was so excited he nearly cried out. I giggled. “Is it always that active?” he asked. We always called the baby, it, or baby. We did not dare give it any sort of gender. That would personalize it. Until that night that is. Lying there, still smarting from the nasty duo’s comments, and wondering if I really was ruining Jimmy’s life, I

had an image of a little girl in dark pigtails running in the park. Jimmy chased after her while I trailed behind. I smiled at the image. “What?” Jimmy grinned. “What are you thinking?” “Nothing,” I said. Then I asked, “Am I ruining your life, Jimmy? Am I somehow interfering with your future?” Attuned to my moods, the baby projected a sidesplitting kick that actually kind of hurt. I flinched. “I felt that,” Jimmy said, marveling. “That’s got to be a boy with a kick that strong.” He was smiling as if his team had just won the championship. I tried to smile back. “Oh, I see. Girls can’t have strong kicks?” I asked. Jimmy looked down at me, still smiling. Then his eyes grew serious, and his mouth came down on mine. He kissed me long and gentle. I felt stirrings inside me that I did not want to feel. I pushed him gently away. “Better not do that,” I said. “I love you, Abby,” Jimmy said. I felt a tear slip down my cheek. I couldn’t even the last time someone had said they loved me. “What’s wrong, Abby? Why are you crying?” I waved my arms around the room. “It’s this entire situation, Jimmy.” I was nearly panicking. “It’s you. It’s the baby. It’s my parents. I’m so confused. I’m trying to handle this maturely, but I’m not that mature.” “Do you feel the same way about me?” Jimmy asked. A look of longing lit his eyes. I didn’t know how to answer. Truthfully, I had loved Jimmy since the first day he had bought me maternity clothes. “I don’t know how to love,” I said. Jimmy caressed my belly, kissed it softly where the baby had kicked. I felt the baby respond with another strong kick. Jimmy laughed. “I think he really likes

me.” “You really think it’s a boy?” “I don’t know. A little girl would be nice, too. What would you want to call her if it was a girl?” I took Jimmy’s hand off my belly. “We can’t name her, or him,” I said. “We can’t personalize this pregnancy.” Jimmy looked into my eyes. “Too late,” he said. “I’m already in love.” I felt a sharp pain in my heart and closed my eyes. He put his hand back on my belly and began caressing it in small circles. The baby made fluttering movements everywhere Jimmy’s fingers touched. I began drifting off to sleep. It was all too soon when I felt Jimmy’s weight lift off the bed and heard my door open softly. Jimmy was always careful not to make noise when he left my room, but I could swear I heard every footstep he took as he moved farther away from me. I missed the feel of his head on my shoulder, his hand on my belly. “I love you, too, Jimmy,” I said to the empty room.

The next week at school was difficult. I didn’t get to see Jimmy as much as he was busy with basketball practice. His friends taunted me mercilessly, as if I had any control over Jimmy, or his actions. “What do you want from me?” I screamed at Shannon and Devon, who had returned for a second stab at me. They just glared and walked away. On Wednesday of that week, I ate alone. Jennifer, my usual buffer, had stayed home with period cramps, and Jimmy’s basketball coach had called a team meeting over the lunch period, which left me alone with the sharks. I felt as if every eye in the entire cafeteria stared at me. I’m sure that wasn’t true, but it felt like it at the time.

I ate half my peanut butter sandwich, drank my milk, and couldn’t stand anymore staring. I picked up the remains of my lunch and threw it away. “Maybe you shouldn’t waste that food,” Shannon hollered across the room. “You might need to save it for the baby.” People laughed. I don’t know why; the comment wasn’t even funny. In fact, it was kind of lame if you ask me. I wanted to shout that to her, but I wasn’t going to play her game. I held my head high and made my way to the door. Shannon stuck out her foot as I ed her, tripping me. Instinct told me to put out my hands, which I did, breaking my fall. Shannon laughed, as did a few others, but most of the kids told her it wasn’t cool. “You could have hurt the baby,” Devon said. Shannon shrugged. “Who cares? That would probably be better. Anyway, with a mother like that, the kid’s doomed.” Several kids laughed. Other’s (who didn’t think it was quite so funny, but weren’t willing to stand up for me) turned away. Not willing to help, but not willing to watch, neither. These kids hurt me the most. Mrs. Lathrop was the one who came to my rescue. As I lay there, sprawled out like a spider, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Then a hand extended down. I didn’t see whose hand it was at first, but I knew it was an adult. The fingers, long with neatly polished nails, offered . I looked up into her eyes and read the comion. I took the offered hand, allowing her to lead me back to her office. We must have looked quite the pair with her arms around my shoulder, and I the hysterically slobbering fool. If we drew stares, I didn’t notice and she didn’t say. When we reached her office, she unlocked the door, led me to the same bench I had sat on the last time I was there. She took out some antiseptic wipes and began cleaning my wounds. If only she could cleanse my soul as easily, I thought.

“You know,” she said, “it doesn’t have to be this hard.” I glanced at her, not daring to look her in the eyes. “What do you mean?” She sighed. She bandaged the last scrape, drew up a chair beside me, and sat down. “Let me call someone who can help. I have a friend in social ser—” I cut off her words in an instant. “No!” “Please, Abby.” “Have you ever heard of the right to practice religious freedom?” “Well, of course, I have. That doesn’t give your parents the right to treat you this way.” “What about the kids?” I asked, more concerned with their actions, than that of my parents. “I’ll talk to the principal. He should know what’s happening on his playground.” I shook my head. “It will only make things worse.” “Abby, please,” she tried again. “No,” I said, softer this time. She put her hand on my belly. “Have you felt it kick since your fall?” “No,” I said. She put both her hands on my belly, moved them various places, keeping them in place for a few moments each time. “What are you looking for?” I asked. “Contractions,” she said. “Do you feel any?” “I don’t think so.” Just then, the baby kicked. I jumped. “There it is,” I said, and smiled.

“When you get home you listen to the heartbeat. I think everything’s okay, but let’s just be sure.” Jimmy came dashing into the office, nearly ripping the door off its hinges. “What happened? Justin said you fell.” “Yeah, clumsy me,” I said. I shot Mrs. Lathrop a look, begging her silence. I didn’t need any more problems. “Is he okay?” Jimmy asked, rushing to my side and feeling for signs of movement, much as Mrs. Lathrop had done a few moments ago. “It is just fine,” I said. “May I go now?” I asked. Mrs. Lathrop nodded. “Don’t forget to check the heart rate.” “I won’t,” I said. Jimmy walked me to my next class. “Shouldn’t you go home and put your feet up or something?” I shook my head. “I’m fine, Jimmy.” Jimmy kissed me, taking me by surprise. He had never kissed me in public before, as so many boyfriends do. I smiled when he pulled away. “You have a beautiful smile,” he said. “It’s just a smile,” I said, demurring as I turned away. I didn’t take compliments well. They weren’t allowed as part of our culture. Vanity is a sin. He turned me back around and kissed me again, quickly this time. “Is your mom picking you up?” “Unfortunately,” I said. “I’ll see you tonight?” “Can we skip tonight,” I said. “I’m really tired.” I felt bad when I saw the look of disappointment on his face, but he said he understood and walked away. I couldn’t concentrate in class. When Ms. French called on me to solve the

Calculus equation, I was forced to decline. “You okay?” she asked. “I’m fine,” I said, diverting the snickering eyes. Even my state of embarrassment couldn’t pull back my attention. My hands wandered to my abdomen. I couldn’t stop counting baby kicks. I looked to my left and saw Devon staring at me. When she saw me looking at her, she mouthed, “Is it okay?” She pointed to her belly with one finger, and then at my belly with the other. I nodded and saw her relax. No matter how verbally vindictive Devon could be —she obviously didn’t have a stomach for physical taunting. Devon ed me on the way out of class. She handed me what looked like a business card, but was just a card printed with her name and phone number on it. “Call me if you need anything,” she said. “Thanks,” I said, lacking conviction. My eyes must have betrayed me because she said, “I feel bad about what Shannon did to you.” “Are you responsible for Shannon’s actions?” I asked, feeling like an adult. “I started the whole thing.” I started to walk past her, but she stopped me. “Can I ask you something?” I shrugged, indicating she should go ahead. “Are you keeping this baby?” I looked at her. It wasn’t any of her business, and I didn’t feel like answering. I was weighing her possible motives when she said, “I’m only asking because my dad’s a lawyer. He does adoptions sometimes. He’d find the baby a good home. You can count on that.” I stared at her open-mouthed. “You’re offering your dad’s legal services.” “Yeah,” she said, and shrugged. “He’d do it for free if I asked him.” “Wow,” I said. “That’s really nice of you.” She blushed, leaving me wondering if the tough-girl act really was just an act. “I

feel kind of bad about the way I’ve treated you.” She looked at me for a moment, as if she were waiting for me to exonerate her or something. I wasn’t about to do that. Forgiveness was one thing; easing guilt just to make her feel better was another matter. “I’ll think about it,” I said. She turned and left. I was able to finish the rest of the day in a somewhat better mood. After the last bell, I made my way to the car. Jimmy stopped me halfway there. “I want to come tonight,” he said, pleading strongly with his eyes. “I’m really worried about what happened.” I sighed. “Okay,” I said, relenting. I ignored my mother on the ride home, Gabby, too—but then I didn’t really have a choice in that matter. My mind was so preoccupied that I didn’t hear my mother talking to me. “I’m talking to you,” she said. Irritation flooded the car. “I’m sorry. What did you say?” “I said I’m going to pick out the baby’s crib. Do you want to come with me?” I blinked hard, catching Gabby’s shocked look out of the corner of my eye. “Why are you buying a crib?” “We can’t very well put the wretched thing in a sock drawer.” “I’m not keeping this baby,” I protested. “I’m giving it up for adoption.” My mother shook her head. “No, you’re not.” I narrowed my eyes in anger, my brows knit together. “I can do what I want with my baby.” “So, that’s a no on the crib?”

I sighed in frustration. I knew it was pointless to argue with her. We’d see who got her own way when the baby came. “Do what you want,” I said. In my mind I added, it’s your money you’re wasting. I ran up the stairs and slammed my door. I took out my homework and began working my Calculus problems. My mind kept wandering to my fall, my humiliation throughout the day, and the card I had stuffed into my pocket. I took it out now, read Devon’s name and phone number several times. I put the card in my sock drawer, retrieved the heartbeat monitor from its hiding place, stuffed it under my shirt and made my way to the bathroom. I climbed into the tub and lay down. Lifting up my shirt and pushing down the maternity waistband on my jeans, I turned on the machine. I turned on the microphone, as I had come to call it, and placed it against my belly. I listened to the steady, galloping rhythm. I closed my eyes, counting the beats over and over, my mind lost in a trance, my heart breaking with the thought of never looking at my precious baby’s face. I don’t know how long I lay there, but I know I drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sound of my baby’s beating heart. I had to work the next day, so Mother didn’t pick me up after school. I walked the ten blocks to the Ice Cream Palace. A light-skinned woman with a darkerskinned baby, sat at a table drinking a chocolate malt milkshake and reading a book. The baby slept in her carrier and looked like it had a dark tan. I wondered if my light skin and Jimmy’s Mexican brown would give our baby that luscious creamy color. “How old is she?” I asked. The woman looked up from her book, surprising me with her age. I wondered if she was the mother, or sister. “She’s three months.” She beamed a dazzling smile. “She keeps me awake all night and then sleeps like an angel all day.” She giggled. “It’s hard to stay mad at her, though.” I looked around, trying to figure out how best to phrase my question. “I’m seventeen,” the woman offered, as if reading my mind.

I blushed. “I…I…” She smiled, putting me at ease. “It’s okay. I’m getting used to people asking.” I sat down in the chair next to her. “Is it hard?” She reached over and stroked her daughter’s face. “Incredibly.” The baby jumped, flinging both hands out, cooed, and settled back to sleep. “She’s worth it, though.” “What about the father?” “Oh, he’s great.” She held up her left hand, displaying a very small diamond ring. “We’re married. We have to live with my parents, though. It’s the only way I can finish school.” “What do you do with her when you’re at school?” “Sometimes my mom watches her, sometimes her dad, sometimes I take her to school.” “How?” I asked, surprised by her answer. “My high school has a childhood education program. Some of the girls leave their babies full-time. Some of the teachers do, too.” She shrugged. “I have to pay for it, but it’s worth it. Besides, it isn’t all that much. Dillon works part-time while he finishes school,” she said, once again anticipating my next question. “Did your whole life change?” She nodded, urgently. “You have no idea.” “Do you miss hanging out with friends?” She frowned, indicating this had been a difficult situation. “I still see my friends at school. They were pretty terrific at first.” She shook her head as a sad frown settled across her face, “But now that the novelty of little Chrissy has worn off, they don’t seem to come around much anymore.” She brightened. “It’s not really a bad thing. I was really partying too much,” she giggled, “thus the presence of Chrissy.” She leaned over and looked at the baby. “Chrissy forced me to grow

up. My GPA has climbed from a 2.5 to a 3.2. Mom’s happy because it looks as if I’ll make it into college, after all.” “I don’t think my mother would care if I got into college.” “Hey, can you sit for a few more minutes? Chrissy is just about to wake up from her nap. You can hold her if you want. I’m Susan, by the way.” She held out her hand in greeting. I shook it. I did want to sit, but I wasn’t sure about holding the baby. Susan didn’t give me a chance to object, however, when she took Chrissy out of her seat and plopped her onto my lap. She squirmed for a minute, and then settled into a huge grin. I nearly dropped her from my inexperience. “I’ve never held a baby before,” I said. “Get used to it,” she said, nodding at my belly. “When are you due?” I suddenly felt uncomfortable with the baby and handed her back to my new friend. “Three months.” “Ugh,” she said, “the most brutal part.” “I thought it was the morning sickness.” I must have had a stricken look on my face because she started laughing. That made the baby cry and Susan lifted her shirt and pushed the baby’s face against her breast. “You’re breastfeeding,” I said, more of a statement than anything. “Who can afford formula?” “I thought they have programs to help with things like that.” She rolled her eyes. “They do, but Dillon won’t let us use them; he’s too proud.” “Is he in high school, too?”

“He graduated last year. He’s taking classes at the community college. He’s going to work until Chrissy is a little older and I graduate. Then he’s going to go to school full-time. By then I should be able to help out financially.” “It sounds hard. Why didn’t you just give her up for adoption?” She sighed. I knew this meant she had answered this question a million times. “I don’t know why. For some reason, I just couldn’t do it. It’s like she’s a part of me. It seemed wrong to give her away. Do you know what I mean?” She cast a puzzled look at me, but I knew it was a rhetorical question and didn’t answer. I watched her feed the baby for a minute and then I said, “I think Jimmy wants to keep our baby, but he hasn’t said so yet.” “What about you?” “I think it would be best for the baby if we gave it to someone else.” She nodded, indicating she understood. She gave me a sad smile and said, “It’s your baby, and you can do what you want with it, but make sure you can live with your decision. Jimmy, too. Don’t forget, it’s also his baby.” “I don’t’ have the you do.” I said. “I mean my parents are so angry with me. I don’t think they’ll ever forgive me.” “My mother was angry at first, too. Now it’s all I can do to pry the baby from her arms. She came around once Dillon and I proved we were dedicated to being good parents.” I chuckled sarcastically. “You don’t know my parents.” I looked at her for a moment, deciding whether I could confide in her. In all honesty, I needed someone to confide in. “They think I’m a heathen and this is the Devil’s child.” She laughed loudly, startling the baby. Then she saw that I was serious and sobered. “Oh, I see.” She sighed again. “That’s tough.” Mr. Pinkerton came out of the back room then. “I’m going to the bank, Abby. The freezer in bin two is on the fritz, so all the flavors usually in there are in the back storage.”

I rose. “Okay,” I said. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks for all the advice.” “You’re welcome. I’ll be back in to visit again. Chrissy’s doctor is across the street.” She reached into the diaper bag and pulled out a card. She handed it to me. “In case you change your mind about the baby.” I looked down and saw it was a card from her pediatrician. “Dr. Lampton is great. Chrissy loves her.” I nodded, thanked her, and stuffed the card into my back pocket. Mother picked me up after work. Her trust level had gone from zippo to negative zero in no time flat. I was distracted on the way home and tried as best I could to tune her out. “I picked up the crib today.” I ignored her. “Did you hear me, Abby?” “I heard.” “Then acknowledge me for God’s sake.” I turned my head to look at her. “Isn’t that technically taking the Lord’s name in vain?” “Don’t get wise with me, young lady.” I didn’t understand why she was so upset; it was a legitimate question. “I don’t care about the crib,” I said. “I told you, I’m giving the baby up for adoption.” I turned my face back to the window. A herd of horses grazed in the long grass behind Zachary Templeton’s fence. I longed to be on one of them, soaring with the wind without any cares to burden me. “I know,” she said. “I think that’s a wise thing to do.” I snapped my head around. “What?” “Your father and I talked it over. We’re going to adopt the baby. We’ve called our lawyer. He’s setting it all up.” My heart started pounding so fast I thought I might have a heart attack and save us all some grief. A bitter taste rose in my mouth, and I realized I was going to

be sick. I rolled down the window. “Pull over!” I screamed. My mother did not comply and all my lunch went on the side of her car. “Oh for God’s sake, Abigail—I thought you were long past the morning sickness.” For such a strong Christian woman, my mother sure used the Lord’s name inappropriately—a lot! She pulled over to the side of the road—now that the damage had been done—and jammed the car in gear. I literally fell out of the car, collapsing beside the road in the grass. “Get up, Abigail,” my mother commanded. “You’re embarrassing me by lying beside the road like that.” I sat up, which was as far as I could make it at the time, and rested my head in my arms. Mother hovered over me, tapping her foot periodically in impatience. I could hear the cars whizzing by. My mother’s foot tapping kept tune to the sounds of the car. I finally managed to pull myself up and sat in the car. Mother went around to the driver’s side and got back inside. I resumed my silence. My mother had the decency to leave me alone. When we got home, she got out of the car and said, “Wash the car, Abigail.” Then she used her remote to open the garage door but didn’t drive the car inside. I heaved my six-month pregnant body out of the car and dragged out all the carwashing equipment. Mother went inside. I struggled with the hose, spilled the car wash, and nearly slipped on the sponge before I vented in frustration and kicked the bucket. “Do you need some help, Abigail?” I looked up and saw Mr. Britton, our neighbor across the street, watching me. I was close to tears, but I would not break down in front of him. I glanced toward the house, hoping my mother had not seen. As tempted to accept his offer as I was, I knew I couldn’t. “Thanks, Mr. Britton. I’ve got it.” I waved— a friendly gesture that I hoped

would assuage him. He watched me for another moment to make sure I wasn’t lying, and then he moved about his business of taking the garbage down to the curb, shaking his head all the while. I washed the car as quickly as I possibly could and raced up to my bedroom, where I threw myself on top of my bed. When I finally managed to pull myself together, I took out the laptop, daring discovery, and signed on. I prayed Jimmy was online and began typing. Me: Help! My parents are planning to adopt our baby! Jimmy: No way that’s going to happen! Me: They already saw a lawyer! Jimmy: It’s our baby—we say who adopts. Me: I need you, Jimmy—badly! Jimmy: I’m coming tonight. Me: I can’t wait. Jimmy: Sign off before she catches you. I closed the laptop and shoved it back under the mattress. My timing couldn’t have been more perfect as my father burst through my door without knocking. He looked at me for the longest time, as if just now realizing I was a heathen with a bastard baby in my belly. He cleared his throat and began speaking. My father didn’t speak much. If you haven’t guessed from my story thus far, my mother did all the talking. My father was the backup plan when she felt she needed reinforcement. “Your mother said she told you about the adoption plan.” “She did,” I confirmed.

“I think it’s best for everyone.” When I didn’t respond he moved closer. “Look, Abigail, this is not an easy situation for any of us.” “Compounded by you and mother,” I retorted. “Accusations don’t make the situation better,” he said. His nostrils flared as his jaw twitched, a clear sign he was losing his tempter, but I didn’t care. “What about my feelings? Does it matter to you how much it would hurt me if I had to watch my own child call her mother?” “We’ve thought about that, too,” he said. “There’s a school in Arizona that Pastor Morgan knows about; it’s for troubled youth such as you. You could go there now, and when the baby comes we’ll bring it here. After you graduate, you can go on to college.” “I’m not a troubled youth!” I screamed. “I made one lousy mistake and believe me, I’m paying for it. I can’t believe you care so little for me that you’re willing to pack me off to some reform school in Arizona.” My father sighed and shook his head. “I was hoping you would be reasonable about this,” he said. “I thought you would want what is best for your baby.” “Oh, now it’s my baby. What happened to it being the devil’s child, and what happened to you not wanting the demon seed in this house?” “Pastor Morgan made me realize that it’s not the child’s fault the parents are sinners, and that the sins of the father can be washed clean with baptism. If this child is to have a fighting chance, we need to bring it up right—in the eyes of the church.” “I am not a sinner and neither is my baby.” He sighed again, an exaggerated sigh this time. “There’s no getting through to you, is there?” I sat down hard on my bed. I crossed my arms over my chest, much like a child throwing a temper tantrum. Then I realized I was probably proving his point and uncrossed my arms. I lay down on the bed, ending the conversation.

My father turned his back to me and walked out the door. I pulled up my shirt, propped myself up on my pillows, and tried to tease my baby into moving. More than anything at that moment, I needed to feel life inside me. Lately, I had begun to imagine certain things about my baby. First, I wondered if it would be a little girl with a small frame, brown hair, and creamy skin like mine —or, would it be a boy with strong arms and powerful legs, like Jimmy. Would it have Jimmy’s athletic abilities, or my creative talents? Then I wondered if he or she would inherit my parents’ over-bearing, religiously fanatical tendencies, or its paternal grandparents’ soft, spiritual ways. I had never met Jimmy’s parents, but he talked of them with love in his eyes. His stories of his church experience were nothing like the weekly berating I withstood. I said I didn’t want to know the gender of my baby—but that wasn’t entirely the truth. I longed to know, but I also knew that once I named the baby, possession of it would not be an option. The baby gave a blessed kick in response to my caressing and I laughed. “Hey, little one,” I said. I watched a ripple across my belly as the baby turned over. “Did your grandpa scare you? Well, that’s okay; he scares me, too. No matter what happens, I want you to know how much I love you, which is why I can’t keep you with me. But I promise I will make sure you are safe.” My sister knocked on the door and walked in. “Dinner,” she said. Then she saw what I was doing and smiled. She looked over her shoulder to see if anyone was around and ran over to the bed. She put her hand on my belly and giggled with glee when the baby bounced it off. “That’s so amaaazing,” she whispered, drawing out the word. Then she rested her cheek lightly against my belly. The touch felt so wonderful that I wanted to reach out and pull her to me, but I didn’t. If one of our parents were to see that, we’d both be in a lot of trouble. Besides, hadn’t she already begun to cross to the dark side? I gently nudged her and pulled down my shirt. I struggled off the bed and brushed past my sister without saying a word. I could see the hurt on her face but could not control my irritation. I knew she had no control over my mother’s commands, but I was still miffed at how easily she followed her orders. “Abby,” she pleaded when I was almost to the door. I turned back toward her, anger still written on my face.

“It’s not my fault.” My jaw hardened as I bit down on my teeth. A sudden vision of Gabby pulling on my arm, crying out for them to leave me alone flashed through my mind’s eye. I softened. “They want to take my baby away from me, Gabby.” “I know,” she said. “I won’t let them,” I said determinedly. Gabby said nothing. I turned and left, making my way downstairs to the den of doom. Mother and Father both were seated, hands in place, ready for prayer. I took my seat and Gabby came right behind me. “Abby, why don’t you say prayer tonight,” my father suggested. I didn’t feel like praying, at least not to their god. They might argue that they believe in the same god as everyone else, but I refused to believe in a god that approved of locking a child in a closet because you didn’t approve of her behavior. Still, I wasn’t up for another battle, neither. I folded my hands and began to pray. “Dear God, thank you for this food and for the hands that prepared it. Let our hearts fill with nourishment as our bodies are fed. We pray for the homeless and wayward, in hopes that they too may find your comforting presence tonight. Help us to be good stewards of our resources, amen.” I looked over at Mother, who apparently approved because she was nodding and grinning. “There’s hope for you yet, Abigail, dear,” she said. I felt myself shudder with loathing. I know the Bible says we should honor thy father and thy mother, but does that mean we have to love them, too? My mother unfolded her napkin and set it in her lap. She served my father first, then herself, then ed the food to Gabby and me. I watched as she served my father, wondering why I had never before realized that she always served my father. Was he not capable of picking up a serving spoon and scooping peas onto his own plate? I thought back to numerous church functions where food was involved, realizing that all the women served their husbands first, then themselves. If this wasn’t subservient behavior, then I didn’t know what was. I watched Gabby as she watched our parents, wondering if she found this behavior odd, too. She certainly didn’t seem as if she did—but then again, I had

never questioned it before. “William Platt is going on a mission trip this year,” my mother said. “Is that right?” my father replied. “He’s going to build houses in Africa.” I looked down at my plate and began shoveling peas into my mouth. “I was thinking it might be good for Abigail to accompany him.” I began choking on my peas. Mother had a satisfied grin on her face. I looked quickly at my father, trying to measure his reaction. “What do you think of that?” my father asked, looking intently at me with an expression I had never seen before. I wondered if it might be concern, or dare I hope comion. “I’m pregnant,” I said. “Even if I wanted to go to Africa, I’m sure I wouldn’t the physical.” “It wouldn’t be until after Grace is born.” I looked strangely at my mother. “Who is Grace?” I saw my father blush at the same time my mother said, “That’s what we’re going to call the baby.” I felt the room spin as the bile rose to the back of my throat. I ran to the bathroom, barely making it in time to avoid a huge mess all over the carpet. In between wretches, I could hear murmurings coming from the dining room. It sounded as if they were arguing. I heard my sister’s voice raise an octave as she said, “Just leave her alone. Don’t you think she’s suffering enough on her own?” I heard footsteps thundering up the staircase. I collapsed against the wall and cried, my body heaving as my sobs became more pronounced. Nobody came to me. Nobody comforted me. Nobody whispered assurances in my ear—until Jimmy came that night. I was lying on my side, knees pulled up to

my chest. My eyes were red and swollen from crying. I heard a soft tapping on my window and jumped. I peered at the window hard and saw Jimmy waving his hand frantically. I bounced from the bed, flew across the room, and opened the window. He crawled inside. “What are you doing? It’s only eight o’clock.” “I couldn’t stay away. I was so worried about you.” He pulled me against him, resting his chin on the top of my head. I put my arms around his waist. I could smell the fabric softener his mother used on his clothes, sweet-like lilacs. My mother used Lysol in our laundry—to kill all the germs. “Hold me tight, Jimmy.” I felt his arms tighten. “What’s wrong?” I left the safety of his arms, took my desk chair and propped it under the doorknob. Then I pulled him down on the bed with me. I put my arms around his neck and pulled his lips to mine. I kissed him with fervor, the ion rising between us. He pulled away, but I could feel his resistance to do so. “What are you doing, Abby?” “Make love to me, Jimmy.” “No, Abby.” “Don’t you want to?” He groaned. “There’s nothing I want more.” I tried again, kissing him harder this time. He pulled my arms down, pulled me down, cradling me in his arms, stroking my hair. “Why won’t you, Jimmy?” I stung from the rejection. “Because it isn’t right,” he said. “It isn’t what you really want.” His hand slid down my arm until he found my hand. He picked it up, holding my purity ring up. Then he kissed my hand.

“I’m sorry I took this from you,” he said. “But yet,” he continued, “I love the idea that we created something wonderful together.” “Even if we can’t keep it?” I asked. He was silent for a moment and I wondered if he had heard me. Then he said, “I’ve been thinking a lot about that.” Then he whispered, “What if we could keep it.” I held my breath. “Did you hear me?” he asked. I could not answer due to the emotion choking my voice. Then I spoke, lamenting my words, “If only we could…” I trailed off, not daring to end the sentence. I fell asleep then, lying there with Jimmy holding me, dreaming of what could not be. When I awoke, it was morning. I was still in my clothes, the desk chair was in its usual place, and Jimmy was gone. A soft breeze blew in through the slightly open window that Jimmy had left ajar. I rolled over and watched a bird nesting in the tree outside my bedroom window. The mother carried twig after twig, rooting it into a nest where she would nurture her young. My hands strayed to my belly. I cupped the roundness, caressed it with my fingertips, urging my and Jimmy’s child into reassurance that it was still there. I was rewarded with a soft kick. I smiled. I showered, dressed, and raced down the stairs to assist in the preparations for breakfast. The table had already been set. There was an envelope sitting on top of my plate. I picked it up and read the return address—Jacob Martin Attorney at law. I opened the envelope and read the adoption agreement. I seethed with anger, crammed the papers into my pocket and sailed out the front door. Jimmy had a zero period, so I ran to the school as fast as I was able. I found him as he was entering the classroom. I pulled him aside and shoved the papers at him. As he read them, I saw splotches of red stain his face. He shook his head. “Don’t sign them.” “I have no intention of g them,” I said, indignant. “But what am I supposed to do?”

“I promise I’ll think of something.” “I can’t let them get this baby,” I spat, seething with anger, my heart racing with fear. I shook his hand that still held the papers, trying to drive home my desperation. “They won’t,” Jimmy promised, but I could see the doubt in his face. “What if they take me to court?” I asked. “I wouldn’t be able to a baby on my part-time earnings from the Ice Cream Palace.” “Judges don’t take babies away from their mothers.” I looked intently at him, wanting to believe what he said, but I knew deep down I was in trouble. My father made a lucrative salary and my mother ran a tidy house. What chance did I, an unmarried sixteen-year-old, stand against them? The warning bell rang. “I have to go,” Jimmy said. “I promise I’ll fix this.” He kissed me and then disappeared inside the classroom. I made my way to the cafeteria, where I hoped I could trade manual labor on the food line for a little breakfast. Mrs. Spencer was glad to have the help. As the last of the early risers made their way through the line, Mrs. Spencer came up to me. “You can eat now. We don’t want to deprive that little baby of its nourishment, now do we?” She was kind and elderly but looked at me with pity and disapproval—unless of course I was just imagining the look. It seemed to me that lately everyone looked down upon me, as if my very existence in this world caused him or her personal embarrassment. I took my tray and sat down to eat just as the bell rang, signaling a start to first period. I didn’t care, though. I was hungry and going to eat. I took my time eating my breakfast. When I finished, I took my tray to the kitchen. They had long since finished washing all the dishes, so I washed my own tray. I was drying it when I heard muffled voices coming from the hallway outside the cafeteria door. At first, I paid no attention, then I heard my name mentioned. I walked stealthily over to the door, put my ear against it, and shamelessly listened. This required me to open the door slightly, which was okay

because the door was unmarked and nobody knew it led to the kitchen. The voices came from two girls. I recognized the voices, but couldn’t put a face to them. “He’s giving up his dream for her.” “I heard they’re getting married.” “It’s such a shame. I mean, really, he’s like the next Michael Jordan. I heard coach Bloomberg say so himself.” “Doesn’t she know what she’s doing to him?” “For real. I mean, Junior College—how embarrassing.” “He asked my dad for more hours at work, too. When’s the guy supposed to have some fun?” “Yeah, huh? She’s ruining his life. This world would be a whole lot better if she weren’t around.” The tardy bell rang. “Gotta run,” the first speaker chirped in her sweetly phony voice. “One more detention and my dad takes away my car.” This she said with disgust. “Toodles,” they simultaneously called. I wanted to puke up my breakfast right there. Blessedly the hallway fell silent. I found my way to the nearest chair and sat down. What were they talking about? I assumed they were talking about Jimmy, but Jimmy wasn’t going to junior college. He was getting a basketball scholarship to Duke. I certainly wasn’t laying any claims to Jimmy—much as I wanted to. I was in no shape to sit in a classroom, so I made my way to the gym. Jimmy had P.E. first period and I planned to confront him the moment he exited the gym. When I got there, I decided to sneak a peek. I would be much more comfortable inside.

Jimmy wasn’t playing basketball with the rest of his class; he was sitting on the bleacher writing on something. I snuck up on him, resting my already weary body beside him. “Hey, what’s up?” I asked, trying my best to sound lighthearted. Jimmy looked startled and tried to hide what he was writing on. I was determined, though and snatched a peak before he could stash it away. “Hey, Abby,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “It’s true then, you really are applying to junior college?” “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you,” he protested. “When were you going to tell me?” “I was going to talk…” He trailed off, looking at me with an odd expression. “How did you know?” I sighed and shook my head. “Gossip around here, Jimmy, flies faster than the wind. You ought to know by now not to tell secrets you don’t want out.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m really sorry, Abby; it should have come from me.” I softened my face. I heard the coach blow the whistle and looked up, watching the practice for a minute. I saw all Jimmy’s teammates, plus a few others who weren’t good enough to make the team and had to rely on P.E. class to get their basketball fix, running up and down the court. “Why aren’t you out there?” I asked. Jimmy shrugged. “My counselor wanted this application back today. Coach said I could sit out and do it now.” I stared straight ahead, not daring to look at Jimmy for fear one of us would start crying. “Why aren’t you in class?” he asked. I continued staring ahead. “I don’t care anymore.”

I have to it it felt good saying it. With all the problems I had going on in my life at that moment, the proper place of a verb was the least important. One missed English class was no big deal. “You should go to class,” he said. “You should go to Duke,” I returned. Then I turned and we looked into each other’s eyes. I firmly added, “I won’t let you give up your dream.” He set aside the application form he was working on and picked up my hand. “Let’s take a walk.” I didn’t protest but followed easily. We exited the gym and walked toward the quad. Several students on study break milled around, doing anything but studying. A few short months ago I wouldn’t have noticed them. Now, however, I longed for their carefree laughter and easy stance. Jimmy seemed not to notice them staring. “You don’t even see them, do you, Jimmy?” “See who?” “All the kids staring at us.” He shook his head, “I see them; they just don’t matter to me.” We walked a few more feet. Jimmy swung my hand back and forth, so that our arms looked like one of those swinging ships at the carnival. “In my family honor is everything,” Jimmy said. “My parents are honest, loving people who taught my brother and me be the same. What I did to you is unforgiveable. I have prayed about this for months. I have even sought guidance from my priest.” “What did he say?” “No more than what I knew in my heart was right. He said, ‘You cannot run from what you did. God is watching and will be there to help you through this.’ He’s right, Abby. You and I created a life together. That child is as much a part of me as my right arm. I don’t want to give away a part of me, nor do I want to

run from my responsibilities. I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t stand up for what I did.” Then he did the most amazing thing. He got down on one knee. Right there in the middle of the quad for all to see, he pulled a ring from his pocket and held it up to me. “Will you marry me, Abby?” I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to do. Of course, I knew I couldn’t accept; my parents would never sign the permission slip. “Get up,” I said. He didn’t, though. He stayed there on the ground, that ring stuck out between us. He shook his head. “Not until you agree to marry me. We can keep this baby, Abby. I’ll finish school, you’ll finish school. I don’t have to have Duke. That was yesterday’s dream.” He put his hand on my belly, right where I knew the baby’s heart surely beat. “This is today’s dream.” He smiled so sweetly and my heart melted. I decided if he wouldn’t stand to meet me, I’d stoop to meet him. “I would feel horrible if I trapped you in a loveless marriage, just because you think it’s what God wants. What about your parents? They would hate me and resent me forever.” His face paled and for a moment, I thought he might faint. Then he bent forward and kissed me. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t say it clearly enough—I love you, Abby, more than anyone in this world. I’m a basketball star, a big man on campus. I could, and have, dated my pick of cheerleaders. Never have I met anyone in this school with as much tenderness or love as you have to share. You make me laugh and feel whole. I have so much fun when we’re together.” He smiled, melting my resolve. “I don’t even want to think about how empty I would feel without you.” When I opened my mouth to speak, he silenced me with a finger pressed to my lips. “Don’t give me an answer right now, wait until I come tonight.” He kissed me and ran off, leaving me standing alone. I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of becoming his wife. I had known who Jimmy was throughout high school, but I had never actually known him. He was just enough older than I was that we had never run with the same crowd, but who didn’t know about Jimmy Martinez, “the big basketball hero.”

I couldn’t help but wonder if I had just said yes that day, maybe the rest of the events would not have happened. What happened that night shook my faith in God and destroyed my belief in humanity.

Chapter Twelve

David

I took a deep breath, knowing this was the part of her story where I would find out what had happened to Jimmy. I looked over my flock, all staring with intent eyes at me, waiting for me to pull off some kind of miracle. Had they not figured out yet that I was only a catalyst for God? Didn’t they know that God was the miracle worker? Did they not understand that the words that came out of my mouth were supposed to represent God’s will—not mine? I knew if I let Abby down, I was also destroying their faith in me. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. What if I failed? Could I live with the outcome? There were only two times in my life that I could when circumstances challenged my faith in God. The first time was when Kathy, the first love of my life, died in a freakish accident on the night of our senior prom, and then again with the acceptance of my current post. I had departed for this little seaside community with my spirits high and my determination even higher. To be fair, I have to it I had been warned by the retiring pastor of this church, that although the congregants meant well, their hearts weren’t always in the right place. Greed, gossip, and stubborn pride had been tearing the church apart for years. “They need a distraction,” Pastor Allen had said. “Maybe a fresh face is just what they need.” But it hadn’t worked. Well, okay, maybe a little bit. Although I had seen a slight change around the campus these days, most of the congregants still went about grumbling about this person or that person, while still more tried to rule the church as if they personally owned the business. Now, as I looked upon them, I felt a rising hope that this is what they needed. I began to wonder if God had lead Abby to us. Perhaps Abby’s plight had renewed a sense of need in them. There were seven in the audience now. Someone had somehow managed to procure the high school’s most recent yearbook. Several heads bent over it, trying to guess to which Abby I was talking. From the fervent shake of their heads, I would say they hadn’t been too successful thus far. Minerva still had not returned, and I wondered to where she had run off. Ms.

Brighton, the social worker, also had not returned. I wondered if perhaps the two of them were off somewhere together. Dan had dragged in space heaters from somewhere, as the furnace was on an automatic shutoff after eight pm, so the church could conserve energy. I worried that if it had gotten cold enough for space heaters, then Abby and Grace might not be faring so well. “Abby,” I said. She had begun to cry, so I gave her a moment to compose herself. “Are you okay, Abby?” She sniffed, blew her nose. “I’m okay,” she said. “Are you and Grace cold?” “I have blankets for Grace.” I considered this a good sign. If Abby truly had wanted to kill herself and her child, she wouldn’t have fussed so much with essentials, but I noticed she had left herself out of that statement. “What about you, Abby?” “As part of my penance, I shall have no creature comforts,” she mocked. I seethed with anger, wondering how long her “penance” was to last. “You don’t have to be cold, Abby. Even if God has demanded penance of you, He would not want you to be cold. May I bring you a blanket?” She sat in silence for a moment. I did not want to rush her, so I stayed quiet. Finally, she said, “I’m fine as I am.” Ms. Brighton entered the room and handed me a piece of paper. I read it: I can have Abigail and the baby in foster care tonight. She had added in a hesitant scrawl, but not together. I shook my head and handed the note back to her. It was not good enough. I locked eyes with Betty again and knew what thoughts whirled in her mind. I knew that if Ms. Brighton were unsuccessful in her quest this evening, Betty and I would open our homes and our hearts to this child and her child. “I believe you were about to tell me about Jimmy. Did the two of you marry?”

“No,” she said, and a sob choked her next words. “We never got the chance.”

Abby

I barely made it through school that day. All I could think about was being Jimmy’s wife. I had to work that afternoon. When I walked into the Ice Cream Palace, Mr. Pinkerton was standing behind the counter, wiping it down. He wore a pained expression on his face. As it was Tuesday, I wasn’t surprised to find my new friend, Susan there with Chrissy. What was different was the fact that she was crying. Mr. Pinkerton rolled his eyes in an impatient gesture and indicated I should sit and talk to her. He wouldn’t it it, but he had become used to her and Chrissy stopping in for the Tuesday milkshake special and had even started playing with Chrissy. I had to say it touched my heart. I took the seat next to Susan. “What’s wrong?” “Dillon and I had a fight.” She blew her nose in a handkerchief. Her nose was red, her eyes bloodshot. I sat back. This was none of my business. “I’m sorry,” I said, for lack of something better to say. “He wants to move out of my mother’s house.” “And you don’t,” I said, stating the obvious. “It’s hard enough buying things for Chrissy without having to worry about rent, too.” She looked at me and offered clarification. “Dillon’s very proud.” “Can you afford rent?” Her eyes grew wide, emphasizing. “No! That’s the problem. If we get our own

place I’ll have to get a job. I won’t get any time with Chrissy, and I know I’ll end up quitting school to compensate.” I nodded. What she said made sense. “Did you explain this to Dillon?” “That’s what we fought about. I think he’s a jerk and he thinks I’m not pulling my weight. Taking care of Chrissy is hard work,” she protested. I nodded. “He doesn’t appreciate you?” “No. He’s so stubborn about accepting help, even though I keep telling him that’s why it’s there. The worst of it is my mom’s really great about the whole thing. She’s hardly ever even home, so we have the place to ourselves most of the time, and I do keep the place clean for her. That’s kind of like paying rent.” She looked at me with a questioning expression. “Am I wrong? I mean, you’re working here and you have the baby coming. Don’t you get tired?” I nodded. “My situation is different.” “I suppose,” she said, sighing. “Men are such jerks some times. Hey, do you think he would give me a job?” She nodded her head toward Mr. Pinkerton to indicate who he was. I shrugged. “Maybe. I suppose it doesn’t hurt to ask.” “Is this what I have to look forward to if I accept Jimmy’s marriage proposal?” Susan’s mouth fell open and a huge grin spread across her face. “He asked you to marry him? Oh, Abby, that’s wonderful. Now you can keep your baby. I just knew you were in love with him.” I laughed. “I thought men were jerks.” She laughed. “Yeah, well, only when I’m pissed off.” The door flew open and a harried young man entered. His eyes found Susan and he flew across the room, pulled her to her feet and hugged her so tightly I thought she might burst open. “I’m so sorry, baby. It’s my fault.” He plastered kisses all over her face until she giggled and begged him to stop.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “No, it’s my fault,” he protested. Susan laughed. “Let’s not argue over whose fault it is. You were right, Dillon. I’m going to look for a job so we’ll have enough money to live on our own.” He shook his head. “Chrissy is your job. I don’t want strangers looking after our little girl. Your mom’s been terrific. I should be grateful instead of resentful.” He grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her. I turned away, not wanting to embarrass them. When they pulled apart, Dillon began collecting her things. Susan put a hand on his arm. “This is the friend I told you about.” Dillon stopped and turned to me. He smiled, emitting radiant warmth. I could see why Susan loved him so much. I couldn’t help but think of Jimmy. “Abby’s getting married,” she said, spilling excitement. I blushed. “Oh come on, Abby. You know you want to say yes.” She giggled and hugged Dillon’s arm. “Look how happy we are.” I had to laugh, considering ten minutes ago he was a jerk. She beamed a smile at me and I could see she was honestly happy. “You will say yes?” Something Dillon had said earlier about strangers taking care of their baby had struck a chord in me. Although, if I had to choose between strangers or my parents caring for my baby, I’d take my chances with the strangers. I looked at Dillon holding his baby and again I thought of Jimmy. “Do you have any regrets?” I asked Dillon. He shook his head and pulled Susan into an embrace with him and Chrissy. “None at all.” They began making their way to the door. Susan stopped, turned around and hugged me. She whispered in my ear, “Accept the proposal. You won’t regret it.”

When I got home, my mother was pissed off and ready to pick a fight. “Abigail Stein!” she screamed the minute I opened the door. “Get your troublesome butt in her this instant.” I did not walk to the study. I ran. I didn’t know what I had done wrong, but knew I was about to find out. My sister cut me off at the . “She got a phone call from the school today.” “About me?” She nodded, then ed me and made her way up the stairs. I opened the den door and walked inside, closing it firmly behind me. My mother stood with her back against the window, anger clearly splayed across her face. I had not done anything to warrant a phone call from school, so I was at a loss. “What’s up?” I asked, hoping my heart didn’t thump as loudly as it sounded to my own ears. “I received a phone call from the school.” “And…” I said, urging her to continue. “I want to know what you’ve done to make the istration want you gone from there.” “I didn’t do anything,” I said. “I simply go to school and mind my own business.” Or at least I try. “They said your presence is a distraction to the other students. They feel it would be best if you continued your studies at home.” I panicked. I would go crazy locked up in this house all day with my mother again. What about Jennifer? What about Jimmy? “No,” I pleaded. “Don’t make me do it.” I don’t know if it was my pleading so bad to stay in school or her embarrassment over the whole pregnancy, but suddenly her irritation changed and she smiled.

“Maybe it would be better,” she mused. A tear slipped down my cheek and I turned to flee. “Where are you going?” “To my room.” “I didn’t dismiss you.” I eyed her with contempt, and then bravely said, “Do you think it would kill you, Mother to stand up for your daughter for once.” I opened the door and fled. She didn’t try to stop me. Alone in my room I wept, wiped my eyes, wept again. I heard footsteps outside my door and wondered if it was my mother checking to make sure I was still in the house, or my sister trying to get enough courage to enter and comfort me. I couldn’t blame Gabby for avoiding me. Much as I knew it killed her to stay away, she had her own sanity to think of—not to mention four more years in this house. Just two more miserable years in this house and I would be out—unless I accepted Jimmy’s marriage proposal. I smiled at the thought, wondering at the same time if it would be that easy to get permission to marry. Susan said judges always gave pregnant teens permission to marry, so long as they could themselves. Jimmy and I each had a job, but would that be enough to the three of us? I caressed my abdomen and sighed. “What should I do little one?” He, or she, kicked strongly in response. I felt my heart swell. When I had first talked about adoption, it had seemed so easy. The baby at that time, was little more than pea sized. The only indication that it even existed was my breakfast entering the toilet every morning. Now that it moved, hiccupped, kicked me until all hours of the night, it wasn’t so easy. Jimmy obviously wanted to keep it. He was even willing to give up Duke for it. Why wasn’t the decision as clear for me? Deep down I knew the answer to that. Jimmy came from a loving family that would help nurture our baby. My own family viewed the baby as punishment for immoral behavior. Would Jimmy’s family be as quick to accept me? An hour later, I was lying on my bed reading my history text, when I heard a soft

rapping on the door, or at least I thought I heard it. I wasn’t sure so I continued reading. It came again. I rose, opened the door a crack. My sister stood there. She whispered, “It’s done. She withdrew you from school.” My shoulders slumped with another defeat. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” she said. She turned and ran away before our mother caught her. I wandered back to the bed and threw myself on it. I don’t know how long I lay there, but I heard the sounds of dinner being served. They didn’t even bother to come and get me. I didn’t care; I wasn’t hungry. Just before bedtime, I heard the soft knock again. I opened the door expecting to find Gabby again, but no one was there. I was closing the door when I noticed a brown paper sack on the floor, the kind my mother used to pack our lunches in. I closed the door and opened the sack. Inside were a ham sandwich, a cookie, and a note. This is the best I could do. She was watching me all night. I smiled. What Gabby didn’t realize was the effort and risk she took far exceeded the welcome taste of the sandwich. At 9:30, I turned off my light and waited for Jimmy. At 9:45, my door opened and my mother peered inside. Seeing that I was already in bed, she closed the door again and went on to her bedroom. I heard the sounds of the water for the teeth brushing and knew they would be in bed soon. Jimmy always came through my bedroom window now, so I had taken to leaving it unlocked. I heard the window slide open and waited expectantly for the feel of him sliding into bed next to me. His body was cold. He shivered as I pulled him close to me, willing some of my heat to transfer to him. “It’s getting too cold at night,” I said. “You shouldn’t come.” “I don’t mind,” he said, and snuggled closer to me. His hand began caressing my abdomen as he whispered his love to the baby. “She’s taking me out of school,” I blurted out. His hand stilled, and then continued. Even he was becoming accustomed to her little surprises. “Why?” he asked. “Apparently, I’m a distraction to the other students.”

“They are the ones causing the distraction. You’ve done nothing except sit in class and do your schoolwork.” “She wouldn’t even hear me out.” “Does she hate you that much?” I don’t’ know why but his question stung. In all the nasty ways she treated me, I hadn’t stopped to question her love. Wasn’t a mother automatically supposed to love her children? I know I certainly loved my baby, and she hadn’t even entered the world yet. “It doesn’t matter,” he continued, sensing my sudden distress. “I love you enough for your entire family.” I remained quiet for a moment before saying, “Gabby loves me.” Then after a moment I said, “My Grandma Max loves me.” He tipped his head back to get a look at my face. “You’ve never mentioned a Grandmother before.” I nodded and pushed his head back down on my chest; I liked the way it felt there. “Grandma Max disapproves of the way my father is raising his children. They don’t speak.” “Would she help?” I snorted a laugh. “I don’t even know where to find her. She’s what you would call a ‘free spirit.’” “She travels a lot?” he said. “All over the place,” I said. “Last year she spent half the year in Spain. She told me all about it the last time I stayed at her place.” “Do you visit her often?” “Rarely,” I said, bitterly. “She’s a bad influence on Gabby and me, so my parents only let us see her when they are desperate for someone to look after us. Her ‘home base’ as she calls it is in Arizona.”

I felt his head nod. We lay there awhile, Jimmy stroking my belly, the baby kicking in response, me smiling. Jimmy said, “Have you thought about what I asked?” I took a deep breath. “I think I’d like to,” I said. Jimmy sat up so fast that I thought he would push me off the bed. I giggled and then clamped my hand over my mouth, just as my door flew open and my father stood on the threshold, glaring hot daggers at Jimmy and me lying under the covers. “What is going on in here?” he demanded. All the while striding across the room and yanking me from my bed by the arm. “You little tramp,” he roared. Even in the dark room lit only by the moon and hallway light, I could see the anger on Jimmy’s face. “Let go of her,” he demanded. My father turned his attention to Jimmy. “It wasn’t bad enough you put a demon seed in her belly,” he roared, “now you have the audacity to question the way I discipline my own child.” “You have no right to treat her this way. She’s a beautiful, caring human being, not your whipping post.” I gasped, knowing that to raise Father’s anger would have devastating consequences. My father let go of my arm and strode across the room, taking Jimmy by the shirtfront. My mother and sister arrived just in time to see my father manhandling Jimmy toward the stairs. “No!” I screamed. “Let him go.” My mother crossed to me, backing me up against the wall, my belly digging into her abdomen. She stopped and looked down at it, and I knew that if it weren’t for the baby, I would be lying on the ground, courtesy of her backhand. I struggled against her, wanting desperately to get to Jimmy, but she pressed me more firmly against the wall. “Father, no!” I screamed again, as my hands reached past my mother’s shoulders

toward Jimmy. “We’re getting married.” My father stopped long enough to spit hateful names at me, which I don’t like to recall, before continuing his procession to the stairs. Jimmy stumbled down them, my father barely holding on to him by the shirt. My mother still had a grip on me, so I was not able to help him. My sister stood shrieking my father’s name from the corner in the hallway. “I’ll come back for you, Abby,” Jimmy screamed to me as I heard the front door open. “I’m coming back with the police!” I heard him scream as the door slammed shut and my father thundered back up the stairs. He headed straight toward me. I felt the sting of his slap across my face as he mumbled something about sparing the rod and spoiling the child. “Not the face,” my mother chided him, but my father stopped hitting altogether. He dragged me down the stairs, much as he had Jimmy, only he was gentler with me—because of the baby, I’m sure—and locked me inside the closet again. I kicked the door, screamed at the top of my lungs, kicked the door again and screamed again. I kicked and screamed until, exhausted from my vain efforts, I collapsed. I cried hard for Jimmy, cried for what I should have known was too good to be true—cried for my little baby. I fell asleep while caressing my baby, singing every lullaby I could in an effort to calm his or her kicks.

Chapter Thirteen

David

The look on my face must have shown sheer shock because Betty ran to my side. “What is it,” she whispered. I pulled her against me, so that she would feel the force of my love. I cradled her head, as I wish I could have done to Abby that night. We didn’t need to speak, she felt my despair. Likewise, I felt her comfort. “That must have been so awful for you,” I qualified, chocking on my words. “I had not realized just how much I had come to love Jimmy until that moment,” she said. “Nor how much I hated my father,” she added. “Hatred torments the soul,” I advised. “My father torments the soul,” she corrected. This was her story, her feelings, I reminded myself, and so I kept quiet. How did I go about letting her know that her father did not represent the entire world? Even more so, how was I to help her feel the strength of God’s love for her and her baby when her only religious experience had been that of condemnation and scorn? Minerva came in and slipped a paper to me. I was happy to see her, as I had begun to worry as to where she had disappeared. I read the note. There must be a couple dozen Martinez families in the phone book. Can you find out the father’s first name? I turned my attention back to Abby. “Do Jimmy’s parents know about Grace?” “I couldn’t bear to face them after Jimmy’s death.” “You blame yourself?” I asked. “Who else should I blame? If Jimmy hadn’t been looking after me that night, none of this would have happened.”

I resisted the temptation to remind her that Jimmy took advantage of her inebriated condition. In many states that would constitute rape. I didn’t see how that would help the situation, so I kept my tongue. Besides, wasn’t that being judgmental? “Maybe they could help out with Grace,” I said instead. “They have so much grief,” she argued. “Have you considered that gaining a grandchild might ease the pain of losing a son?” She grew silent, and I knew she hadn’t. Her own grief did not allow her to see past her own survival. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I signed the adoption papers.” I could hear my own breath take a sharp intake. Betty, who was standing close enough to me to hear me breathe, heard Abby’s comment and shook her head in despair. A tear trickled down her cheek. I wiped it away. I scribbled on a note: She signed the adoption papers and handed it to the social worker. She shrugged her shoulders, scribbled something on my note, and handed it back to me. I read: Signed under duress; it will never stand. “What if I told you it wasn’t too late,” I said. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she cried. “Jimmy was gone, and my parents were always breathing down my neck. Every time I turned around they harassed me about something.” I could hear the anger in her voice, even after all these months. “Is that what brought us to this point, Abby? Do you feel as if there is no way out?” She sobbed and I let her cry out her pain. “You said your mother named her Grace. Was there a name you had picked out?” I asked, thinking that perhaps they had discussed family names. “Once, when Jimmy and I were talking about the baby, he said that if we were to keep the baby, he would want to carry on the tradition of naming the first boy after his father. If it was a girl, he would want to call her Katherine Rose, for his grandmother.”

“Those are both wonderful names,” I said. “So, Jimmy’s father is also named Jimmy?” “James,” she said. “Jimmy’s full name was James Robert Martinez.” She laughed. “I used to call him Jimmy Bob whenever he teased me.” I wrote the name on a piece of paper and shoved it at Minerva. I couldn’t help but feel a little bit ashamed of my trickery. She grinned, blew me a kiss and was out the door again. I wondered again what she had up her sleeve. “How long did they keep you locked in the closet this time?” I asked, encouraging her. “Just the night,” she said. “They didn’t need to keep me locked up after that. After Jimmy died, I no longer cared about anything.”

Abby

The next day my mother let me out of the closet. She wore a worried expression on her face but wouldn’t convey anything to me. “What’s wrong, Mother?” I asked. She didn’t say anything, just kept walking. I was not about to let her off that easily and followed her. “What’s wrong, Mother!” I screamed. When she got to my father’s office door, she stood aside, gesturing me inside. I stepped inside, feeling a sense of dread as I ed the threshold. My father was sitting at his desk. His face was ashen, his hair matted with perspiration. His agitation was apparent, making my fear more intense. “Come in and sit down,” he said, as if I were merely there for a job interview. When I was seated on the stiff loveseat, he said, “There’s been an accident.” “What kind of accident?” I asked, although deep in my gut I knew the answer.

They just stared at me with blank faces. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I don’t believe you. You’re making it up.” My mother put her hand on my shoulder—attempting, I suppose, to comfort me. “It’s true, Abigail,” she said. “He had an accident after he left here last night. He’s in a coma in the hospital.” “But he’s not dead,” I blurted out, somewhat relieved. My father tipped his head sideways, pursed his lips together. “It doesn’t look promising,” he said. “I called the hospital, and I spoke with his father.” I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him. “He told you, just like that?” “I told him you were a good friend and were concerned but too shaken up to call yourself.” I shook my head again. “I don’t believe you.” He sighed, took out a newspaper and handed it to me. On the front page was a picture of Jimmy in his basketball uniform, along with a picture of his wrecked car. “No, no, no!” I wailed. Neither of my parents moved an inch to console me, but my sister flew through the door when she heard my wails. She pulled me against her and soothed my hair. “Is it true, Gabby?” I managed to choke out. “Oh, yes,” she said, her eyes filled with comion, which I so desperately needed. “It’s all over school.” “Why, Gabby? He didn’t do anything wrong.” “Nobody said he did,” she lied. From the corners of my eyes, I saw both my parents look away. Suddenly, I stood. “I have to go to the hospital.” “That’s not a good idea,” my father said. I turned my head to look at him. “I don’t care what you think,” I said. “This is all

your fault. Jimmy loves me. He wants to marry me. But you threw him out.” “Honey,” my mother said, “be reasonable.” My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t the last time my mother used a term of endearment to address me. It only figured she would do so now when she was trying to cover her guilt. “I don’t care what you say; I’m going to the hospital.” I broke free from my sister’s grasp and headed toward the front door. My father caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and yanked me backward. It felt like my arm was being pulled from its socket. A numbing sensation spread up my arm and into my neck. I grabbed my neck and let out a loud cry. “Let go of me!” I screamed. “Let her go,” my mother said. “She needs to see it for herself.” “Are you sure?” my father asked. My mother nodded. My father let go of my arm. I grabbed it and pulled it tightly against me. I held it there until sensation returned. I walked out the door and began walking down the street. A few moments later, my mother pulled up beside me. “Let me drive you,” she said. I kept walking for a moment, being stubborn, but then I realized the folly of being seven months pregnant and walking five miles to the hospital. I got into the car. We pulled into the hospital parking lot. Mother found a spot easily enough. “Do you want me to come in with you?” she asked. For a moment, I considered accepting the offer, but I shook my head. “I can handle it.” I got out of the car and walked across the parking lot. My legs felt like rubber bands, but somehow I made it to the door. The smells of the hospital assaulted me when I entered. Although my morning sickness had abated, I was still sensitive to smells. I pushed through it, though, eager to get to Jimmy. “Which way to the ICU,” I asked the clerk, knowing that’s where he would be.

She looked at me with the casualness that a store clerk might greet you with if you were buying a new sweater. “Are you family?” “My husband’s in there,” I said, grimacing at the amount of lies I was chalking up. I hoped God wasn’t keeping score. I stepped back so she could see my pregnant belly. “He’s been in an accident.” “I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope things turn out well.” She nodded and pointed the way for me. I turned and ran the way she pointed, picking up directional signs along the way. When I saw him, my breath stilled, my heart skipped a beat. Dread washed over me. A middle-aged couple sat next to his bed. The woman clutched rosary beads in her hands, while the man rubbed her back. They both looked to be deep in prayer. Based upon Jimmy’s description of them, I knew them to be his parents. I made some small noise and they both turned. I locked eyes with his mother. I don’t know if it was the terrified look in my swollen, tear-stained eyes, the pathetic attire of pajamas too tight around my abdomen, or my overall waif-like appearance that reached out to her, but Jimmy’s mother opened her arms and I raced to them. The tears fell from my eyes like a waterfall. My body racked so heavily with sobs that I didn’t think they would ever stop. All the while, this wonderful woman did her best to calm me, whispering sweet endearments in my ears, rubbing my back as I often heard mothers did, stroking my hair that was tangled from a restless sleep in the downstairs closet. When my body stopped shaking, she got out of her chair, guiding me to it instead. She stooped down in front of me, which must have been an effort for her fifty-year-old body, cupped my chin in her hands. “Were you very close?” I nodded, not liking the way she said were. Did that mean she had accepted the inevitable? “He was a good son,” she said. “We must pray for him now.” I stiffened, ing the hands all touching me, praying for me. “It’s okay, dear. Prayer doesn’t hurt.”

She touched my hand so lightly that I barely felt it. The words she uttered jumbled together, Lord, Savior, healing, salvation…were all so familiar to me, but yet, had never sounded so comforting. When she had finished, she opened her eyes and said, “It’s all in the Lord’s hands now.” Jimmy’s father pulled up another chair and she sat in it. We didn’t talk. We just sat there, she clutching her rosary beads, Mr. Martinez stroking her back, I touching Jimmy’s hand. She didn’t mention the baby, question my relationship to Jimmy, or indicate in any way that she suspected he might be the father of my child. She just accepted me sitting there, both of us attempting to reach a mutual goal—to heal the person whom we both loved. After an hour, I knew I needed to go. If I didn’t, my mother would come looking for me, and the last thing Mrs. Martinez needed was a scene in her son’s hospital room. “I promise I’ll come back.” I leaned over and kissed Jimmy gently on the lips. I half expected Mrs. Martinez to protest in some way: shake an accusatory finger at me, spew expletive name calling at me, or maybe even hit me with her rosary beads…but she didn’t do any of those things. She thanked me instead. I wanted so badly to tell her about the baby, but I couldn’t find the courage. I felt as if she had enough of a shock for one day. Besides, if the worst-case scenario happened, my plans for adoption would have to be back on the table. I reached out and hugged both of Jimmy’s parents. “Take care of yourself and your baby,” Mrs. Martinez said. “Children are such a precious gift from God.” I longed for her to say, “I know that is my grandchild, and no matter what happens, I will be there for you.” But she didn’t say that, she just returned to her chair and bent her head over her rosary beads. I turned and walked away, the sounds of the hospital drifting away as I made my way to the car. “Are you all right?” my mother asked. Her sudden sentiment surprised me. I nodded. As she drove away, I watched the hospital, and my Jimmy slip away.

I locked myself in my room for two days, refusing to eat. I left only to use the bathroom. I didn’t even shower. On the third day, my mother knocked on my door. “Come in,” I said. She opened the door and carried in a tray. “You need to eat,” she said. “The baby needs nourishment.” I looked at her and sighed. I took her comment only as concern for the baby and not for me. I ate, nonetheless. The food tasted like cardboard, but I knew my mother was right, so I forced it down. “Do you want to talk?” she asked. I stared at her with a blank face. My mother had never asked if I wanted to talk. My thoughts, feelings, and actions had never concerned her before—unless, of course, I was disgracing the family, such as getting pregnant at sixteen. “No,” I said. “Has there been any word?” I asked. “I’m afraid not,” she said. I nodded. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If no word had come, that at least meant Jimmy was still among us. “Would it be all right if Gabby watched a movie with me?” “Gabby has homework. Then she has youth group. Would you like to go to youth group?” “No. I don’t think I can look at all those kids right now.” She nodded. “You need to get started on your home studies. It will do you good to take your mind off things.” “I don’t think I can concentrate. I think I’d like to go back to the hospital.” She looked at me sternly, all traces of the previous comion gone. “It’s not an option,” she snapped. She picked up my history book and threw it at me. I caught it before it hit me. She turned and walked out. I pushed aside the tray, unable to eat another bite.

I took out my laptop and logged on, praying for some sign of life from Jimmy. There was nothing: no email, no front-page article announcing his miraculous healing—no notice announcing his funeral, neither. That was a good thing. Jimmy had set up a Facebook for me, but it had been ages since I logged on. I did so now. Even though I wasn’t miss popularity, there were several messages for me. I scrolled through them all. Most of them were from friends of Jimmy. They had accepted me only because of Jimmy. Once they realized the link was broken, I was sure they would drop me quickly. There were a few urgent messages from Jennifer in my private box. I opened them. Jennifer: Where are you? Jennifer: Man, I’m worried about you. Your mother won’t put my phone calls through. Jennifer: Answer me, Abs. Jennifer: We’re going to Hawaii over Christmas break. I checked with the airlines; they’ll let you go since you still have two months left to go. My mom said it’s okay. Please beg your mom to let you go. Mom will buy the ticket. Jennifer: Abby, if you don’t answer soon I’m going to storm the house. Jennifer: OMG just heard about Jimmy. You poor thing. Are you okay? That was the final entry. I wrote back. Mom took me out of school at school’s request. I’m holding up, but it’s so hard. I would love Hawaii, but I need to stay here for Jimmy. Besides, we both know what Mother’s answer would be. Jimmy asked me to marry him. I said yes. (I could hear Jennifer’s joyous scream as I typed this. It made me smile). I’ll try to call when I can. Why my mother chose some moments to knock before entering and others to not, I’ll never know. Unfortunately, for me, she chose that one particular moment to not. She burst through the door and saw me sitting on the bed with the laptop open before me, the history book she had thrown at me cast aside. “Where did you get that,” she demanded. “Jimmy gave it to me.” I hoped I sounded nonchalant, like it was no big deal that

I had a laptop. She strode across the room and ripped the cord from the wall. Sparks flew from the frayed cord, and I shrank back from them. They seemed not to faze Mother, though. “Get your books and meet me downstairs,” she said as she strode from the room with the laptop under her arm. I felt a deep sadness sting my heart. Up until now, I had mostly used the laptop when they were in bed, or in the bathroom. I had been careless, taken a chance and lost. I mourned not for the loss of the laptop, but for the loss of public . I wondered now how I was going to keep up with his progress. In addition, I would no longer be able to use the pregnancy websites to track my prenatal progress. I gathered my books and headed down the stairs. It was late in the afternoon and I was tired. All I wanted was to climb into bed, pull the covers over my head and have a good cry. Mother, however, had other plans. She was just putting the final changes on my new classroom when I walked into the family room. A large map of the world hung over the family portraits. The television was gone, replaced with an overhead projector that pointed straight at a wall that was now vacant, but used to hold an oversized painting of the ocean. Facing all these things was a small table with two chairs on either side of it. I groaned, knowing I was in for a long period of isolation. Mother didn’t need to tell me to take one of the chairs; I did so automatically. She took the other. “Open your history book to page ten,” she said. “Page ten is the beginning,” I protested. “We’re way past that.” She crossed her arms in front of her. “Well, now, I have no way of knowing where you are in the book. The best thing to do is start from the beginning.” I groaned again, opened the book, and began reading aloud. She lost interest in what I was reading. I could have recited excerpts from my favorite nursery rhyme and she wouldn’t have noticed. At some point, I stopped reading and stared at her. I had never before tried to figure out my mother, but now I did. She was pretty—at least in her youth she had been. Now she was just attractive. Her wardrobe was simple, not pricey, but

not cheap, neither. Her lips were slightly plump—which I supposed some people considered sexy, not that men would notice her because she always wore a frown and unflattering clothes. I believe in God and all, but I don’t think he would object to my mother wearing clothes that fit. All of her clothes looked as if she could put an extra half of herself into them. She said it was so not to draw attention. Mother didn’t work. As far as I knew, she never had worked in her entire life. She married my father the year she graduated high school. Grandma Max said my dad was too old for her, but Mother didn’t listen. My father had already been attending our church, so everyone naturally expected Mother to fall in line behind him, which she did. I came right away, which made Mother eighteen when she had me. Father was a frugal man, although our house was attractively decorated. The house is the only area Mother is allowed to buy expensive things. Father says it’s because a home reflects the status of a person. They entertain quite a bit, so Father wants nice things for his guests to look at. They can’t be too expensive, though, or Father will lose his temper. Once, Mother spent a hundred dollars on a fruit bowl. Father was angry and started screaming about how stupid she was. She explained that it was handmade by a woman in some African village and that she had bought it at a fundraising bazaar. He calmed down after she explained it, but Mother fumed for days. Later that week they threw a dinner party. Dad’s boss came, and when he raved about the bowl and congratulated Mother on being so ive of the mission, Father had to concede. He never bothered Mother about how much she spent on things for the house again. Personal vanity was different. If Mother spent too much on clothes or haircuts, Father would rant for days about the vanity of people who spent nearly a day’s pay just to make themselves attractive to others. God was the only one who mattered. On my tenth birthday, Mother bought me a makeup kit, just a play one, nothing that would last any real amount of time. Father threw it in the garbage can. I cried but he didn’t care. Mother never bought me makeup again. I looked at Mother again. She stared off into space, and I wondered what kept

her so deep in thought. “What was it like falling in love with Father?” I surprised myself with the question, but even more, I astounded my mother. “What does that have to do with your history lesson?” “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just that you’re so pretty under those drab clothes and plain face. Did you ever wear nice dresses or makeup?” She smiled, looking as if she were ing something. “When I was your age,” she began, “I dated half the football team.” I gasped, which made Mother’s smile even wider. “Marcus Hamilton started a rumor that I would put out, after I rejected him, so all the boys started asking me out. It wasn’t until the fifth date I learned what was going on.” “What did you do?” I asked, totally engrossed. Mother giggled. I had never before heard her giggle. I liked the sound. “I played along.” She looked at my open-mouthed expression and rushed to clarify. “I never put out,” she said, shaking her head emphatically. “Times were different then, weren’t they?” She nodded. “I suppose they were. But that doesn’t excuse promiscuity,” she quickly added. “I know,” I said. “But it’s really hard standing up to all the peer pressure.” My mother frowned at me and gave me one of her looks she gives us when she thinks we’re making an audacious statement. “We had peer pressure, too, Abigail.” “Did you have pretty clothes?” She smiled again, looking as if she were daydreaming again. “I had the best clothes,” she said, and again she giggled. I didn’t know if I should laugh along with her, or be angry for depriving me and

Gabby of the same fun as she had in her youth. “Did you go to church then?” “Oh, no,” she said. “I didn’t meet your father until my senior year.” “Was it love at first sight?” My Mother got a sad look on her face. I had always wondered about my parents’ relationship. I had witnessed other couples together, and my parents didn’t act like any of them. Their kisses were friendly—at least public kisses were. I didn’t even want to think about their private kisses. They never held hands when they walked through the mall, as I had seen Jennifer’s parents do. They didn’t turn on music and dance, as also I had seen Jennifer’s parents do. They acted polite to each other, nothing else. Mother stiffened her back and stuck out her chin. “I don’t believe in love-at-firstsight,” she said, but her eyes misted over, leaving me wondering even more about whom my mother really was. The timer beside my mother went off. “Oh now look,” she said. “We’ve talked all the way through the history lesson.” She sighed and I said, “I kind of think we were talking about history.” She looked at me and grinned. “Yes, I guess in a manner of speaking we were.” She sighed again, the wistful mother gone, replaced by the stone witch. “No matter, time to move on.” I placed my hand on top of hers. I was relieved when she didn’t pull back. She looked at me, making brief eye . “I didn’t mean to sleep with him,” I said. “Someone spiked the punch at Jennifer’s birthday party and I drank it. I lost control of myself. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” She nodded in reply and opened her teacher’s guide to the Calculus book. I regarded her as she read from the book. I smiled, realizing this was the closest I had ever come to having an intimate conversation with my mother.

After school ended for the day, I made my way upstairs, wandering slowly toward the nursery. I smiled when I entered it. Mother had picked out a white crib. I approved. White was cheery. A matching dressing table stood beside it, laden with diapers, lotions, creams, and powder. I picked up one of the bottles of lotions and smelled it. I liked the fresh smell. The curtains were a cheery yellow with large white daisies embroidered on them. She had painted the walls white with large yellow stripes running vertically every twelve inches or so. In the corner was a rocking chair with a yellow polka-dot chair cushion on it. A teddy bear sat in the chair. I walked over, picked up the teddy bear and hugged it to me. I sat in the chair and rocked, looking at the crib as if it already contained the form of a sleeping baby. I envisioned Jimmy and me standing beside the crib looking down at our sleeping angel. Then I ed Mother had decorated this room for her own purpose and my smile dropped. A rocking horse with large colorful dots sat underneath the window, impractical for an infant, but cute all the same. Without Jimmy around, I wondered if I would have the courage to stand up for my rights. Somehow, I doubted it, and a sense of dread raced through me. I heard my mother come up the stairs but made no move to vacate the nursery. She came to stand in the doorway. She watched me rock in the chair for a few minutes before saying, “We would treat the baby well, you know.” I stopped rocking. I took a deep breath. “As well as you have treated me?” “Of course,” she said. I rose from the chair, brushed past my mother without making eye , and slammed my bedroom door. I longed for my laptop, so I could make some kind of with the outside world. I desperately wanted word on Jimmy. I decided I would sneak downstairs after my parents went to bed and call Jennifer. I would ask her to visit Jimmy and bring me an update. With that decision made, I rolled onto my side, pulling my knees up as far as I

could, thinking if only things were as simple as they had been when I was a baby. I fell asleep like that. When I awoke, someone had thrown a quilt over me —the one my grandmother Max had made for me when I was thirteen. It was old, tattered, and comforting—just like my grandmother. I presumed it was my sister because certainly my mother wouldn’t have taken such care. I glanced at the clock, realizing with dread that it was far too late to call Jennifer. Then an idea struck me. It may have been too late to call Jennifer, but the hospital never closed. Still in my clothes, I pulled on a sweater and made my way toward the front door. I opened the door and a shrill siren sounded, reverberating throughout the house. I shrieked right along with it. I hadn’t even noticed the alarm my parents had installed. Now all three of my family came running down the stairs to see what was going on. My father was the first to reach me, except he reached past me and entered a code to disarm the system. “When did we get an alarm?” I asked, trying to catch my breath and still my pounding heart. “After the neighbor boy snuck in to seduce my daughter,” my father said, not caring if his cynicism hurt me or not. My mother regarded my appearance, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and snaked up an eyebrow. “Where do you think you’re going at two in the morning?” “I’m going to the hospital to see Jimmy. I can’t stand this suspense. I need to know what is going on.” My mother and father glanced nervously at each other. My father continued wearing his stern expression, but my mother’s face fell into a look of comion. “We have to tell her,” she said to my father. He continued to stare, not saying anything. My mother led me to the sofa. I did not like the look of worry on her face. “Honey,” she began, shocking me yet again with her term of endearment. “Your

father and I were debating whether we should tell you this or not.” She hesitated. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m going to come right out and say it— your young man died yesterday.” The only thing I after that is screaming and my sister’s arms wrapped tightly around me. I awoke the next day in my bed. My eyes were so swollen from crying that I could barely open them. My head felt like someone had placed a fifty-pound weight on it, and it pounded with pain. I tried to sit up, but I was weak and the room spun every time I lifted my head. “That’s from the drugs they gave you,” Gabby said. I didn’t turn to look at her, but knew she was sitting at my desk from the location of her voice. “They gave me drugs?” I asked, wanting to confirm I had heard her correctly. “Yes. The doctor came and gave you a sedative.” I heard the chair creak and seconds later felt her ease down on the bed beside me. “You were pretty hysterical. You kept calling Jimmy’s name repeatedly.” “Is it true, Gabby? Is Jimmy really dead?” “It looks that way. He’s not at the hospital anymore and kids around school are talking about it.” She gave me a half-hearted chuckle. “You know all about that ole rumor mill.” I turned my head into my pillow and cried some more. Gabby soothed my back. “Don’t cry so much, sweetie; it’s not good for the baby.” Her words only made me cry harder. Thinking about my and Jimmy’s baby, I rubbed my belly. I felt the responding kick and retreated into my world of make believe, where Jimmy and I played and loved all day and automobile crashes and ranting parents didn’t exist. “Leave me alone,” I whispered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said.

“Please, Gabby,” I pleaded. Then I felt her ease off the bed. I moped around for many days. Mother prodded me to do my homework, but I refused. I had neither the desire nor means with which to go on. I didn’t eat for days. Then Gabby convinced me to eat for the baby’s sake. I asked to go to the funeral, but Mother said I should stay home for the baby’s sake. It seemed everything was for “the baby’s sake.” I began to resent the baby. If it hadn’t been for the baby, Jimmy would still be here with me. Then I would remind myself that if it weren’t for “the baby” Jimmy and I never would have grown to love each other. I took to sitting in the rocking chair, staring at the empty crib. When I was a week away from my due date, Mother surprised me by saying she had made a prenatal appointment for me. “A little late, don’t you think?” I responded, but went to the appointment all the same. The doctor wasn’t too happy about my lack of prenatal care, but conceded that I was in good physical condition. All the usual prenatal tests came back normal, so no harm done, right? The doctor did an ultrasound, even though I told her I had already had one. “Do you want to know the gender?” she asked. “No,” I said. “I just don’t care.” On the way home, Mother asked if I wanted to stop at Dairy Queen for a sundae. “No,” I said, despite the fact that I would have welcomed the offer two months ago. Whereas two months ago Mother was killing me with scorn and shame, she was now killing me with kindness. Gabby still wasn’t allowed to talk to me. Not that it would have mattered; I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Mr. Pinkerton called and said he hoped I felt better soon. He told Mother I was a good worker and not to worry, my job was waiting for me. She shared this information with me, but it did nothing to lift my spirits.

As my due date approached, Mother helped me pack my suitcase. Or, rather I should say, she packed while I sat listlessly beside her, nodding at each article of clothing she put in. Eventually, she sighed and just threw in a little of everything. The baby became more active, and then quieted as I felt activity move to my lower abdomen. Mother said the baby was preparing to come out, resting for his or her grand finale. Blessedly, the day finally arrived. I awoke at six in the morning with wrenching pain in my lower back and front. I screamed and Mother came running. “What’s wrong?” she asked. I was rolling from my back to my side, alternating grabbing each one, not sure which one hurt more. “You’re in labor,” Mother said and went to rouse my father. Although Mother’s jibes had softened, Father’s had not, and when he appeared in my doorway, looming there with all his great height and sturdiness, I felt like a scolded child. “What the hell!” he boomed. “You don’t expect me to carry her, do you?” “She can hardly walk down the stairs by herself,” my mother protested. I felt touched that my mother stood up for me. Again, I wondered where this newfound mothering instinct had come from. “I can manage myself,” I spat through gritted teeth, as pain racked my body. “Owwwwww!” I cried, rising from the bed. “Breathe,” Mother said. “Relax your body.” I stared at her with evil eyes. “How am I supposed to relax my body when pain is coursing through me?” I asked. Then I ed one of the books the clinic had given me. It was about natural childbirth and explained different breathing techniques. Jimmy and I had planned to read it together but had never gotten around to it. “Let’s just go,” I said. I managed to wobble down the staircase, intent on making it on my own without my father’s help.

Gabby appeared in the doorway to her room, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What is going on out here?” She saw me, and her eyes went wide. “Oh! It’s time.” She disappeared back into her room and reappeared about the time I was halfway down the staircase. She had replaced her pajamas with a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt that read, “Rock out with Jesus, Revival Festival 2009.” I ed the event well as Mother had forbidden me to go. I had not been in her good graces at the time. I don’t even why. Most likely, I’d made a comment or performed some act she viewed as insubordination—there were so many. We made it to the car. Mother helped me into the backseat while father took the driver’s seat. To my surprise, Mother climbed in beside me, instructing Gabby to take the shotgun seat. Gabby was surprised, too, nearly colliding with Mother as she attempted to get in her usual seat. They both wore shocked expressions and stared at each other a minute before I shouted, “Would you two stop staring at each other and get into the car!” They did a circle dance, got into the car, and then we were off. I grimaced in pain each time a contraction came. Mother held my hand, while I squeezed the life out of hers. For the first time in my life, I felt as if my mother really cared. At the hospital, Father dropped us off in the little turnabout place and went to park the car. Gabby ran to grab a wheelchair, emerging in a matter of a few minutes with an orderly. I sat in the chair feeling foolish, but grateful, to be sitting when the spasms came. I ed the same desk I had gotten directions from the night I came to see Jimmy, and my eyes misted with memory. How I wish I could go back to that night and not make the utterance of a cry that had summoned my father. I put on a gown that was not very modest. Then they hooked me up to a machine that monitored my baby’s heartbeat. They asked if I wanted an epidural and my mother said, “No.” The nurse looked at her in confusion. “The Lord intended us to feel the pain of childbirth,” she justified. The nurse shook her head. I knew she wanted to say something but refrained. She looked at me, and I gave her a sympathetic look that told her I had to deal with this every day. She smiled, patted my hand, told me to call if I needed anything, and then she was out the

door. I had no doubt she was eager to escape my mother’s cold stares. My mother and Gabby each found a chair, and we settled in for a long wait. I was content listening to the heart monitor. I found the beats relaxing—at least until the next gut-wrenching contraction hit. My depression had gotten so bad that I wanted to crawl into a deep pit. The pain of childbirth was not helping. My father appeared for a minute, checking to make sure we had settled in. Blessedly, Mother sent him away. “This is girl time,” she said. He mumbled something about not wanting to be there anyway and moved along. I supposed most fathers wouldn’t want to watch their daughters give birth, least of all my father. I was exhausted from my labor, and relished the time between contractions when I could lay back and sleep. Those times were getting less frequent though, as the pain intensified, coming more frequently. During one particularly hard contraction, I grabbed my mother’s hand with my right hand and my sister’s hand with my left. I grunted, sweated, writhed on the bed like a snake. A nurse came in and saw me. She came to my side and touched my arm. “Breathe through it,” she said. “Did you take childbirth classes?” “No,” I said. “That’s too bad,” she said. “May I?” she asked, nudging my mother aside. Mother moved—none too happily—and the nurse slid in her place. She picked up my hand and gently crooned in my ear, “Hee, hee, hee; hoo, hoo, hoo,” while staring into my panic-stricken eyes, with her own calming, brilliant-blue ones. Before long, I was saying it with her. I felt my body relax, and the pain somewhat lessen. “That’s right,” she said, smiling. “See, isn’t that easier?” I nodded. She stepped back. “Okay, Grandma, you take over.” I started to panic again. I did not want her to leave. I did not want my mother to take her place. I grabbed tightly to her hand, refusing to let it go. “Shh,” she said. She took my

mother’s hand and put it in mine. I felt the difference right away, comparing the softness of the nurse’s hand to my mother’s hand, roughened from the harshness of the chemicals she used. I had no choice, though. I was not the only patient this nurse had to care for, and I knew I had to let her go. Mother fell into the same rhythmic hee, hee, hee; hoo, hoo, hoo that the nurse had. Soon I found myself responding and following along with her. I was nearing my seventh hour of labor and growing weaker by the minute. The doctor stopped by to check on me. She was a welcome relief, as I surely thought her presence meant my labor was coming to an end. Sadly, though, she examined me and said in her most cheery voice, “Just a couple more hours should about do it.” “What!” I exclaimed. “Hours?” She gave me her best smile. “I know it seems as if you can’t go on, but you’ll find the strength. It’s all worth it in the end.” She turned away, leaving me with my cries of pain. “I can’t go any more hours!” I wailed. My mother sighed while looking at me with that pitiful look meant for both and chastisement. “Don’t you dare say I should have thought about this before I spread my legs!” I screamed, beating her to the line. “I wasn’t going to say any such thing,” she said. I can honestly say I saw hurt in her eyes. I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside when I ed the months of humiliation and scorn she had recently dealt me. I felt another strong contraction come on. I gripped the bed sheets as the little monster inside me pushed its way farther into my pelvic region. “It hurts so much,” I wailed through my efforts to pant the stupid hee, hee thing the nurse taught me.

“You can do it, Abby,” my sister crooned into my ear. “I can’t,” I said, shaking my head. “I just want this to be over.” “Soon,” Gabby said, pulling my sweat-soaked body close to hers and wrapping her arms around me. “Make it stop, Mother,” I pleaded, fixing my eyes on her. “Don’t you know I would if I could,” she whispered. No, in fact, I didn’t know. I searched her eyes, looking for truth or comion, or anything I could hold onto, but they were blank. “Please, may I have something to drink?” I begged. “Only ice chips,” my mother said. She came to the head of my bed, brought a cup with a spoon, and started spooning ice into my mouth. “Better?” she asked. I nodded and she returned the cup to the table. “How much longer?” I asked as another wave of pain hit me. I grabbed hold of the bed railing as I felt a shifting in the force of my contractions. I looked at my mother with panic-stricken eyes. “Something is wrong,” I said, as I felt the force of nature grip my insides in a downward motion. Two nurses came in then, a smile plastered to each of their faces. “What’s wrong?” I asked again. Another pushing pain hit me and I screamed at the top of my lungs. One of the nurses ran to my side. “Shh,” she soothed. “It’s okay; it’s normal.” She smiled at me. “It’s just time to push out this little one.” I wondered how in this world she could dare smile. She lowered my head a bit and started grabbing towels, gloves, and various instruments, just as the doctor walked in through the door. “Here we go, Abigail,” the doctor said. “It’s time?” “Yes it is. You feel like you just want to push that baby right out?”

“Yes! That’s exactly how I feel.” “Then let’s do it,” she said. My mother turned and started to walk away. “Wait!” I shouted. “Please don’t go.” “You want me to stay?” She looked surprised, but I saw a smile on her face. “More than anything,” I said. She came up to stand beside me, across from my sister. She held one of my hands while Gabby held the other. For a few fleeting moments, while I pushed my child out of my body, my mother, sister and I resembled a family. I moaned and groaned, made disgusting noises and ugly faces, while my sister and mother took turns wiping my brow and whispering words of encouragement. Then, when I thought I could stand no more, I heard the doctor’s blessed words as she said, “I see the head.” “Did you hear that, Abby?” my sister asked. “Yes!” I cried as another wave hit me. “This should do it.” Just as the doctor was speaking the words, I saw the bloodied and misshapen face of my baby emerge from between my legs. “What is it?” Gabby asked, dancing on her toes to get a better look. Just then, the baby’s body flew out in an angry rage. The doctor scrambled to catch it. “It’s a girl—and in a mighty big hurry, too,” she said, laughing. I collapsed back against the bed, gasping for air, dizzy from my efforts. “It’s a girl, Abby,” Gabby said, peering into my eyes. Her eyes filled with water and her expression took on a look of wonder. I nodded but didn’t lift my head to look at her. I felt a sudden wave of depression wash over me as I realized Jimmy would never see our baby. Gabby got down into my face and said, “Don’t you do this.” Her eyes were

demanding, angry. “That’s your baby, and she needs you.” “I need Jimmy,” I said. The hospital staff all stared in confusion. I saw my mother nod. Then one of the nurses put the baby on my stomach. My mother lifted my hand and placed it on top of my daughter’s head. I couldn’t help but look, and I beamed with pride as tears of joy streamed from my eyes. “She’s so beautiful,” I squeaked out in barely audible words. The nurse raised the head of my bed so I could get a better look. She pulled down one corner of my gown and placed the baby next to my skin. The feel of our two bodies together felt strange and glorious. I looked into her face and swore I could see Jimmy in it. “What’s her name?” One of the nurses asked. I opened my mouth to say, “Katherine Rose,” but my mother spoke first. “It’s Grace.” I felt Gabby stiffen beside me. I looked at my mother, anger flooding my eyes. The nurse said, “That’s a pretty name.” I couldn’t help but notice how quickly she scurried away. “That isn’t what I wanted to call her,” I protested. “She’ll need all the help she can get,” Mother equally protested. My mouth fell open as I stared with incredulity at her. “You think God’s going to overlook her bastard status just because you call her Grace?” My mother raised her hand to strike my face, was actually mere inches from it, when she ed where we were. She lowered it to her side. “Let’s not air our dirty laundry in public.” I looked down upon my baby, now sleeping in my arms, exhausted from her arduous journey through the birth canal. “I don’t think of her as ‘dirty laundry.’”

Mother reached over to take her from me, but a nurse reached out and stopped her hand. “Nobody but the mother’s touch for the first few hours,” she said. She looked into my mother’s face, daring her to defy her orders. Mother pulled herself up straight, trying to regain some of her dignity. “I’ll just go and tell your father she’s arrived.” We all watched her stride from the room, head high and shoulders thrown back. “Are you okay?” Gabby asked. I nodded as tears dripped onto my baby’s head. Gabby wiped at them, then reached out and, ignoring the nurse’s order, cupped her niece’s head in her palm. “We can always call her what we want. It doesn’t matter what the birth certificate says.” I turned away, hugging my baby tightly against me for as long as I could, knowing that once I left the security of the hospital, I would be at her mercy.

Chapter Fourteen

David

The air in the room had gone still. Each of my parishioners who had come to witness the story as it unfolded watched me with an eagle eye. Waiting, I suppose, for any sign of what was to come. Minerva still had not returned from whatever was her current mission. “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind," I said to Abby. "This know also, that in the last days perilous times shall come," she returned. “Do you really feel as though the end has come?” I challenged her. “My end,” she said without a quip. "And the very God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ," I tried again. “He that committed fornication sinneth against his own body.” “Do you really believe that?” I asked. “My father does,” Abby said. I wasn’t completely sure how to answer Abby’s statement. On the one hand, didn’t I preach to the children of my congregation on a daily basis the advantages of abstaining from sex before marriage? Yet, on the other hand, today’s moral society had made the act of sex without marriage a standard of practice. Was I to condemn Abby, as her father had? I dare say I would not do so. Abby’s “sin” was an act of poor judgment, not the act of the devil, and certainly neither was little Grace the “seed of the devil.” “Let them come back to God, who is merciful, come back to our God, who is lavish with forgiveness,” I said.

“Do you think it’s wrong to love a baby you made out of sin?” she asked. “No,” I said without hesitation. “A child is a gift from God. God loves Grace, no matter how she was conceived.” She grew silent. I knew she was considering what I’d said. “I loved Jimmy. Was it God’s punishment to take him away from me? How am I supposed to go on loving a God who could take away the man I love just because I broke His rule?” I pondered her question. I didn’t believe God had taken Jimmy from her. That had been an accident, just as it had on the night my Kathy had been taken from me. Still, I’d had to learn to forgive myself before I could move on and forgive God. Likewise, I did not believe God was punishing Abby. “It is normal to feel guilt when we are the ones left behind,” I told her. “I do not feel guilty!” she spat at me, but the very vehemence with which she spoke the words told me she did. I heard her breathing calm. “It isn’t fair,” she said. I heard sobs choking her voice, and I longed to rush to her car and cradle her against me. “What isn’t fair—you being left here, Jimmy being taken from you, or God settling His score?” “I didn’t say that,” she said. “But you think it,” I countered. “I don’t…” she started to protest, but changed her mind. “Okay, maybe I do, but how else am I supposed to feel when the reminder of my sin is crammed down my throat each and every day?” “You’re supposed to feel God’s love,” I said. “Hmm,” she scoffed. “You don’t live in my house.” I heard Grace start to cry. “It’s getting kind of chilly, Abby. Is Grace okay?” “She’s fine,” she said. “I told you that. I’m not a bad mother, you know.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad mother,” I quickly said. “I think you love Grace, but you need some help getting through this time in your life. Isn’t that why you called me?” She didn’t answer at first. I began to fear I had stepped over the line when she said, “I need Jimmy to be here with me. Can you make that happen?” I sighed. “You know I can’t, Abby. But I can help you feel God’s love, which will put you closer to Jimmy.” “My father says God is through with me. He says that until I it my transgression, I am disfavored with the Lord.” “Do you feel disfavored?” I asked. “No,” she said. “I can’t apologize for loving Jimmy. He was a wonderful person —ten times the man my father is.” “I don’t think you should apologize.” “You don’t?” She sounded surprised. “Do you love God?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she said. “From all I’ve been taught, I should fear God. It’s hard to love someone you fear.” “I’m not asking about what you’ve been taught,” I said. “I want to know what you’re feeling.” While she thought about the question, I looked out over my audience. The force of their determination was incredible. It was hard to believe that just yesterday the only thing of importance in this congregation was how to spend endowment money. Now we were in a race to save a young girl’s life. The comparison was staggering, as was the reaction and determination of this small group—God’s plan? I heard a car going out the back drive. I turned and looked out the window, surprised to see Minerva exiting the staff parking lot in the rear of the church. I frowned, wondering where she could be going.

“I want to believe God loves me,” Abby finally said. “Yet you hesitate,” I said. “I suppose,” she said. “Tell me what happened that was so awful,” I said. “What brought you to this point?” I could hear her start to cry again. I closed my eyes against the onslaught of emotion as I listened to the final chapter in Abby’s horrific tale.

Abby

The hospital was like a vacation for me. Mother stayed away for the most part because the nurses always seemed to be yelling at her. Father never came, and Gabby, of course, wasn’t allowed to. She did sneak in once when Mother was at a committee meeting. I had just finished feeding Grace, trying desperately to recover from the embarrassment that breast-feeding gave me, when she stuck her head inside the doorway. “Hey,” she called. I smiled at her. “Gabby. I’m so glad to see you.” “I can only stay a minute,” she said, slithering through the doorway. She dragged balloons behind her and presented them with pizazz. I eyed them scornfully. “Just tell Mother they’re from a friend.” “Where’d you get the money?” I asked. I knew she didn’t have any. We weren’t given an allowance at our house—father purchased all our needs. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, sliding onto the bed beside me. Grace was nestled in the nook of my arm, sleeping peacefully. Gabby looked

down at her. “She’s beautiful.” I nodded, choked with emotion. “I’m going to keep her,” I said. Gabby’s eyebrows rose. “Have you told Mom and Dad?” “No. It’s my business, not theirs.” Gabby hesitated, and I could tell she was trying not to say something she thought I wouldn’t like. “Out with it,” I said. She took a deep breath. “It’s their house,” she said. “Maybe they don’t want your baby there.” “They were prepared to adopt her,” I reminded her. “Dad wants you out,” she blurted out. My mouth fell open. “What about Mom?” “She says Grace needs her. She and Dad are arguing about it almost every day.” “Mom’s standing up for me?” Grace whimpered and made a cute little face. Gabby and I both laughed. “Mom’s standing up for Grace. She said Dad could send you away if that’s what he wants, but Grace isn’t leaving.” “If I leave, Grace goes too,” I said. Gabby shrugged. “I have to go before Mom gets back.” She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. Then she kissed Grace. “I’ll see you both when you get home tomorrow.” “Yeah,” I said, absently. Just like that, Gabby was gone again. Katy, my favorite nurse, ed Gabby as she was entering my room. She could see I was upset from the visit. She put a hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?” I nodded. “Just home stuff.”

Katy nodded, confirming she understood. “It’s not going to be easy for you. We get young girls all the time who try to make it at home. Many of them end up giving up.” She looked at me strangely, as if trying to convey some secret message. Then she leaned in close and slyly handed me a card. “I know people who can make things easier for you.” “What are you talking about?” “Just adoption,” she said, a curt nod ending her statement. “Oh.” I breathed a sigh of relief. She pointed at the card. “My brother’s an adoption attorney.” “Isn’t there some rule against this?” She laughed. “Only if you’re selling babies. I just match people with babies. My brother lets me know his needs, and I keep my eyes open.” I saw her point but still felt it was somewhat shady. I flicked the card. It seemed everyone wanted my baby, but with Jimmy gone, how could I give away the only piece of him left? She wrote down all my vitals, caressed Grace’s cheek and smiled. “Also, just so you know—this hospital, and any fire station is a baby drop-off point.” “A what?” I asked, puzzled. “If you can’t handle the baby, you can drop her off at a safe drop-off point. No questions asked. Just hand her to one of us and that’s it.” “That’s it!” I said, incredulously. “Like I do with my old jeans I don’t want anymore?” She laughed again. “Yes, I suppose it is a little like that.” She left and I watched Grace sleep for a while, trying to put my finger around the whole jean analogy. She wasn’t an old pair of jeans; she was a part of Jimmy and me. The thought of parting with her now, when Jimmy had so desperately wanted her, was obscene.

My mother chose that particular moment to enter. She immediately took Grace from my arms. “You shouldn’t hold her while she sleeps; you’ll spoil her,” she said. She put Grace in her bed without any of the affection most Grandmothers might show for their granddaughter. She turned back to me. “I just spoke with the doctor. You are going home first thing in the morning.” “What about Grace?” My mother looked shocked. “What about her?” “I thought she wasn’t welcome in the house. I thought we were both to be sent away.” “Who told you such nonsense?” I remained silent. Mother didn’t pursue the question. “Of course you’re both coming home.” My arms felt empty. I wanted my mother just to go away, so I could get up and take back my baby, but she didn’t. She stayed until dinnertime, talking senseless stuff about church committees, bake sales for the PTA, the summer camp for which she had to forfeit all her deposit because I couldn’t go. “Why don’t you just donate my camp fees? Certainly Father could take a tax break for it, couldn’t he?” My father was always talking about tax breaks. “I’m sure there’s a needy kid somewhere who could use the money.” “That’s not the point,” Mother said. She sighed. “Well, never mind.” Grace stirred in her bed. I started to fling myself out of bed to get to her before Mother did. She pushed me back down. “I’m standing here. I’ll get her.” She lifted her from her cradle but did not settle her in my arms. “I think she’s hungry,” I said. “When did you feed her last?”

“A couple of hours ago.” Mother shook her head. “Four hours, Abigail. Babies need a rigid schedule.” “The nurses said I should feed her whenever she would eat.” She shook her head. “The nurses don’t have to get up in the middle of the night with her.” Neither do you, I thought, being careful not to vocalize the notion. Grace cried harder. Mother rocked her and recited scripture in her ear. Grace only cried harder. I stretched out my arms. “Maybe you should hand her to me.” Mother held her farther away, like Gabby and I used to do when playing keep away when we were seven and nine. A nurse entered, summoned no doubt by Grace’s cry of distress. “What is going on in here?” “She’s hungry,” I said. “Heavens, child—then why aren’t you feeding her?” She took Grace from my mother and placed her in my arm. Without asking, she untied my hospital gown and placed the baby against my breast. I wasn’t sure which was greater: my level of embarrassment, or my pleasure at seeing Mother chastised. Grace latched on and began to suck greedily at my nipple. I looked at Mother, willing her to leave. The nurse followed my direction. “Do you want Grandma to leave?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” Mother snapped. “I’m her mother,” she justified. The nurse raised her eyebrows at me and nodded her head toward Mother, the unspoken phrase, Honey, just say the word, hung there. I shook my head. “It’s okay.” I knew I would have to get used to it at some point. Even if I didn’t want to breastfeed, which I kind of didn’t, there was no way my

meager wages at the Ice Cream Palace would pay for baby formula. The social worker had been in to see me and explained about some of the social programs to help out single mothers, but I knew Father would never allow me to sponge off the government without a daily lecture, but yet, if he had to purchase the formula for me, I’d never hear the end it. The nurse left, leaving an uncomfortable chill in the air between Mother and me. Outside my door, the intercom was alive with various announcements…Dr. Singleton to OR…Dr. Canberry, call parked on line three…Third floor nurses’ station, please call the ER….but the silence inside my room was even more deafening. Mother blessedly broke the silence. “I would never have had the courage to breastfeed.” “Why?” I was surprised that I was genuinely interested. She shrugged. “I don’t know. It would have seemed improper.” “I kind of like it,” I whispered. She gave me a half smile and rolled her eyes. It was a look I had no way of interpreting. “You can go if you want,” I said. “I know how Father gets if dinner’s late.” “Yes, I suppose I should,” she said, looking at her watch. She hovered by the bed before reaching down and patting the baby on the head. For a moment I thought she might try to kiss me. At first the thought terrified me, but when she’d left without a parting kiss, I was sad that she hadn’t. “I’ll be by first thing in the morning,” she said from the doorway. “Okay,” I said. She left and I switched breasts as the lactation nurse had showed me. Grace protested at the interruption, but settled right back down. I was starting to doze off when a young man burst into my room with a large bundle of roses.

“Abigail Stein?” he asked. I screamed and pulled my gown up over my breast, nearly dropping Grace from my arms. The boy became flustered and began to back out of the room, thrusting the roses at a ing nurse, nearly knocking her over. “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. The nurse steadied him. “It’s okay.” She took the roses and carried them into my room. I was hyperventilating, Grace was crying, and the poor delivery boy stood wideeyed and staring at my exposed breast. I followed his eyes and my mouth fell open. The nurse, quickly assessing the situation, covered me and took the squalling baby from my arms. “You can stop staring,” I screamed at him. Slowly, his eyes left my chest and settled on my face. “You’re Jimmy’s girl, aren’t you?” “Was,” I said, as a tear streamed down my cheek. He nodded toward Grace. “That his kid?” “His daughter,” I corrected. “Wow!” he exclaimed. “She’s beautiful. It’s such a bummer about Jimmy.” By that time I just wanted him out of my room. “You have to leave now,” the nurse said, urging him toward the door. “What’s her name?” he asked as he was almost out the door. I shook my head and buried it under the covers. The nurse came back, tried to put Grace in my arms, but I just cowered under the covers and sobbed. That evening Jennifer came to see me. Grace was off getting some kind of test

done. I had recovered from my meltdown but had been left with a case of depression. “Why didn’t you tell me you had the baby?” she scolded. She handed me some flowers, which reminded me that I hadn’t even looked at the card from the ones the delivery guy had brought. I reached for them. “Can I see those?” She handed me her small bunch, and then retrieved the large vase, plucking the card and handing it to me. I read it aloud. “So proud, sweetie. Love from Grandma Max. P.S. The Riviera is beautiful. Perhaps when you’re done with this whole thing I’ll bring you. Kisses.” “Your Grandma’s cool,” Jennifer said. I scowled. “Yeah, right.” Jennifer frowned. “What’s wrong?” I held my palms up, my mouth dropping open. “Are you for real?” Jennifer looked shocked at my outburst. “Sorry. Do you have that PP blues stuff?” I shook my head. Clearly Jennifer and I were no longer on the same playing field. “I just think it would be better if my grandmother were here, offering help —instead of playing the field on the Riviera, and what kind of crack was that about this ‘whole thing’ being over? Babies don’t just get over.” “Your grandmother isn’t the one who got pregnant,” Jennifer sniped. She grimaced immediately. “I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.” “I know you didn’t,” I said, but my lip began to tremble all the same. I frowned and my shoulders fell to a slump. “It’s not just the baby,” I explained. “It’s everything: The baby, Jimmy, my parents treating me as if I’m the devil incarnate…” “Are they really that bad?”

I gaped at her. “They locked me in a closet!” She shrugged in a no big deal sort of way. “My parents locked me in my room when I threatened to run away.” “They made me sit in a chair with the name fornicator on it.” She grinned. “It isn’t funny,” I said. I was beginning to lose my temper. “You’re supposed to be my best friend.” “I am,” Jennifer protested. “When they get out the whip I promise I’ll call S.” I pursed my lips together in anger. I wondered how she would like to be locked in a closet, called names, and scrubbed daily until her skin was raw. “I don’t see any humor in this,” I said, humiliated. Jennifer must have suddenly realized how upset I was because her demeanor softened and she took on an apologetic expression. Then she said, “Gee, I’m sorry, Abs. I was just playing around. Has it really been that bad?” I nodded as Jennifer plucked a tissue from the box on my tray and handed it to me. I hadn’t even realized until then that I had tears rolling down my cheeks. “You have no idea how humiliated I feel. Here I was preaching abstinence before marriage, wearing this stupid purity ring,” I plucked the ring from my finger and threw it across the room, “looking down on unwed mothers…” Jennifer put her arms around me while I cried on her shoulder. “Everybody knows it wasn’t your fault,” Jennifer said. “Did I tell you Jimmy practically beat the crap out of anyone who said a cross word against you?” My eyes grew wide. “Really?” He’d never told me about this. But then again, he probably thought it would upset me. “Well…he never actually got physical or anything, but he sure gave everyone a piece of his mind.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Jimmy was great.”

“He—” Jennifer started to say, but was interrupted when one of the nurses returned Grace. “Oh my God!” Jennifer squealed. “She is so beautiful? Can I hold her?” I nodded to the nurse and she placed her in Jennifer’s arms. Jennifer looked into her face, dark like Jimmy’s was. “She looks Hispanic.” I frowned sarcastically. “Could it be because her father was Hispanic?” Jennifer blushed and smiled. “Okay, I guess I had that one coming.” She looked around. “When are they springing you from this depressing place?” “Tomorrow. And it’s less depressing here than at home.” She let the comment drop. I supposed it was easier to ignore my pain than acknowledge it. “Can I come and see you at home?” “If you can get by the watchdogs,” I said, frowning. “For real,” she said. “They won’t even put phone calls through. How much hope do I have of them actually letting me cross the threshold?” “None,” I said. “They confiscated the laptop Jimmy gave me.” “That’s why you never answer my emails. I thought I pissed you off or something.” I shook my head and held my arms out for my baby. Jennifer pulled her tighter against her. “A few more minutes, please?” I nodded and dropped my arms, happy that Jennifer was so infatuated with her; it meant a lot to me. “Do I get to be called Auntie Jen?”

“If that’s what you want.” “I think it sounds so cute.” An overhead announcement signaled an end to visiting hours. Jennifer frowned as she handed Grace back to me. Then she reached over and hugged me tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Abs. You are so brave.” If I had known then that my and Jennifer’s friendship would never again be this close, I would not have let go of her. She and I still had one year of high school left, and I had expected to return to it. Mother had other plans. My first night home seemed almost peaceful. Father stayed away, locked in his study I presumed. Gabby played the doting aunt, without talking to me of course because that still was forbidden, and Mother hovered over every need I had. I hated to it it, but I would have been lost without her help. I had no more knowledge about taking care of an infant than I did major brain surgery. Afraid to leave Grace alone, I settled into the nursery in the rocking chair Mother had bought. I watched her sleep, watched Mother change her diaper, and fed her. I was still exhausted from childbirth, so I relished the pampering and extra attention my family gave Grace. On my second night home, I was feeling stronger. I wasn’t nearly as sleepy, had much more energy, and began poring through college entrance requirements. I had yet to take the SATs and knew I had to score high if I was going to get any kind of scholarship. I coerced Gabby into going to the library and picking up an SAT study book, which she managed to smuggle into the house without our mother seeing. I hid the book under my mattress and would take it out when everyone had gone to sleep. The book even had a computer website address where I could take some practice exams. That would have been handy if Mother hadn’t confiscated my laptop. In addition to the flowers she sent, Grandma Max had also sent me a state-ofthe-art baby monitor on which I could listen to Grace. I was to put the

transmitter in her room and the receiver in my room. I thought it was the greatest invention ever made. Mother, of course, said it was a complete waste of money and said, “Any good mother would instinctively know when her baby needed her.” How come you don’t know I need you? I wanted to ask. I let the comment hang like a dagger suspended in the air. On my fourth night home, I awoke in the middle of the night in a panic attack. I had slept six hours without feeding Grace. I reached for the baby monitor, thinking I had forgotten to turn it on, but found it missing. I flew out of bed, running to the nursery as if it were on fire. I stopped short in the doorway as I watched my mother rocking Grace and feeding her a bottle. I rushed to the chair, yanking the bottle from Grace’s mouth so hard she started crying. My mother screamed at me, “What do you think you’re doing!” “That’s the same question I’d like to ask you! What do you think you are doing? I don’t want Grace having a bottle. I’m breastfeeding her, ?” “You were tired. I thought I’d give you a break,” she said. “All new mothers are tired,” I said, borrowing the phrase from one of the nurses at the hospital. “Calm down,” she said, patting the baby on the back in an effort to soothe her. Grace burped. My mother smiled. “See there, all better now.” I stepped forward, wrapped my hands around Grace and tried to pull her away from my mother. My mother pulled back, clinging tight to the baby. Shocked and angry, I stepped forward and slapped my mother. She was so stunned that she loosened her grip on Grace as her hand flew to her cheek. I wrapped my arms tightly around Grace, pulling her to me. My mother was out of the chair in a nanosecond. I felt bad watching my mother stand there rubbing the offended cheek, but I also felt justified. I started to apologize and defend my position, when I felt my hair practically ripped from my scalp as I flew backward. I clung to Grace, who was wailing

away by now. Gabby came out of nowhere and rescued her as my father sat in the rocking chair I used to feed Grace and bent me over his knee, as if I were five-years-old and not nearly an adult with a baby of my own. He delivered ten smart whacks to my rear, stood, marched me to the downstairs closet, threw me inside, and locked the door. I banged with all my might, screamed at the top of my lungs, to no avail. The house above me was silent. There were no cries from a baby, no murmured whispers of women preparing dinner, no television entertaining or informing anyone, and nobody coming to the door to rescue me. I sat down hard on the floor and cried. My breasts were sore and dripping from the long over-due feeding, causing a vivid picture of Grace to enter my mind. How long I stayed like that before someone opened the door and let me out, I’m not sure. I heard the lock click open and then footsteps running up the stairs. I waited for someone to open the door, but no one did. After a while I turned the knob. It opened easily. I eased out, peering around the corner to see if anyone was there. The hall was empty, as was the kitchen I had to walk through to get to the stairs. I crept up, expecting my father to grab me at any moment and drag me back downstairs, but all was silent. I walked slowly to the nursery, pushed open the door, crossed to the crib. It was empty. I swung around, frantic at first, until I realized she must be with my mother. I walked to the master bedroom. The door was closed. I turned the knob, but it was locked. I grunted in frustration, stomped back to the nursery, picked up the transmitter and shouted into it, “Give me back my baby!” I ran back to the master bedroom and put my ear to the door. I could hear my mother and father praying loudly. The words chilled me. “Take mercy on her soul, O’ Lord. Transfer not the sins of her mother and father. Let her be reborn anew in this covenant with you.” I screamed, pounded on the door, screamed nasty expletives, but their prayers only got louder. Giving one final smack on the door, I turned and saw Gabby standing in her bedroom doorway. “Help me, Gabby,” I pleaded. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “There’s nothing I can do.” She turned and walked

back into her bedroom. I heard her sobs coming through the door. I wandered back to the nursery. I picked up Grace’s blanket and hugged it tightly, savoring its smell. I curled up in the rocking chair, rocking furiously until I was so exhausted I fell asleep, the blanket clutched against my cheek. Mother awakened me the next morning when she came in to change Grace. I started awake at the intrusion, ready to cry out vehement words against her. She smiled, catching me off-guard. I watched her change the baby, make cooing noises at her. I wondered if she had been that way with Gabby and me. After she changed her, she placed her in my arms. “She’s hungry,” she said and walked out of the room as if nothing had ever happened. I never felt as relieved in all my life as I did when she placed Grace in my arms. “I missed you,” I said to her as she sucked greedily. After her feeding I placed her in her crib. I walked out of the nursery, closing the door only partially, as Mother had not returned the receiver. I wandered down to the kitchen where I smelled muffins cooking. I was as hungry as Grace had been. I needed to broach the subject of my education with my mother and wanted to find the best time to do so. “May I help?” I asked, hoping to get on her good side. “The eggs need whisking,” she said. I took out the eggs, broke them carefully in a bowl. “Only six weeks until I’m a senior,” I said. She looked thoughtfully, as if she hadn’t realized this fact. “Yes, I guess it is that close.” “They have a wonderful program at the high school for unwed mothers.” I watched carefully for facial expressions, but she had none. “They even provide daycare while I attend classes.” “I don’t see the point in that when I’m home all day.”

“Grace would be exposed to other children, and I would get to see her during the day.” “She would also be exposed to germs from those other children,” she countered. “I read that some exposure is good for children; it helps to build up their immune system.” She didn’t respond to this one so I knew I had scored a point. I poured the eggs into the pan and began stirring them. “You shouldn’t have to be burdened with a baby all day.” I hoped to make it appear as if I were concerned about her welfare. “Let me worry about what I do with my day,” she said. I wanted to scream at her that she was my kid, and I would do with her what I wanted, but after last night I wasn’t about to mouth off again. She must have tired of the game because she turned to me and said, “I was thinking I would home school you next year.” My mouth dropped open. I really needed the education of a classroom for my senior year. My mother wasn’t exactly the most highly educated person in the world. What could she possibly teach me? Aside from the fact that I needed to be around other people, I would go crazy if I had to be with her twenty-four seven. “I have to take Trig next year,” I said. “Take something else,” she said. “You’ve already met your Math requirement for junior college.” “What if I want to go to the university?” “With a baby?” she said. Then a smirk settled on her face. “Sign the adoption papers and your father and I will send you wherever you want to go.” “You’re blackmailing me with my baby!” I cried, incredulous. “It’s the best solution for everyone concerned.”

“Forget it,” I said. I dropped the spatula in the pan and walked out of the kitchen. I went into my bedroom and retrieved my SAT books from their hiding place. I was going to make it to the university on my own, even if it killed me. Our home became a battleground between my mother and me. Gabby took to staying away as much as possible. My father shut himself in his office, only emerging to eat and reprimand me. When the first day of the new school year arrived and Gabby went off to school in her new school clothes, I sunk into a deep depression. I began taking solace beside Grace’s crib. Mother and I fought over everything concerning the care of Grace. She even went out and bought another baby monitor because I kept stealing back the receiver. At Grace’s six-week wellness check, my mother talked to the doctor as if she were the mother, answering all the doctor’s questions before I got a chance to open my mouth. I felt so sorry for the doctor, who clearly looked confused, that I just sat down and let her take over. I absorbed myself in schoolwork, which was difficult, as I was determined to Trig without Mother’s help. To my relief, she left me on my own to do my schoolwork; only stepping in to sign the weekly log the school board insisted I turn in to prove I spent the required amount of hours on schoolwork. Grace and I spent our days outside in the sunny, summer air. She was growing quickly, and I began to pick up glimpses of Jimmy in her. She had his mouth and every time she smiled, she reminded me of him. As the fall weather approached and Grace and I clung to the sunny days, the depression deepened. I was moody, snapped at everyone, including my sister— who had always been my lifeline. When the rains forced us inside, I sank even deeper into despair. Mother noted the shift in my mood and stepped up her involvement in Grace’s care. I would rise in the morning to find Grace had already been fed. I would emerge from a study session and discover Mother bathing her. Mother started feeding her baby cereal when she was eight-weeks-old. “The

doctor said four months,” I reminded her, as if she hadn’t been right there when he had said this. “Doctors don’t know everything,” she said. “Grace likes her cereal.” I wanted to argue, but the fight was leaving me. “I need to see the doctor,” I announced one day. “Why? You look perfectly healthy to me,” Mother replied. “I don’t feel well,” I said. “I can’t even smile anymore.” “How is the doctor going to help you smile?” “I don’t know. Maybe they can give me some pills or something.” “You can’t take pills and breastfeed,” she said. I pondered this knowledge and itted it made sense. I looked at Grace, who was eating the cereal mother fed her, and decided feeding her was more important. Mother smirked over her victory, but I never saw her feed her cereal again. Mother insisted on taking Grace to church every week. I wasn’t invited, not that I wanted to go anyway. Gabby cornered me one day. “You need to go to church,” she said. “Why?” “Because everyone there treats Grace as if she’s Mother’s baby.” “How?” She looked around to make sure our mother wasn’t lurking. “She calls herself Mommy.” I was angry and set my jaw to reflect this. “You need to fight back,” Gabby said. “She’s trying to take over your baby.”

“You think I don’t know that,” I hissed. “What am I supposed to do?” Gabby shrugged and walked away, seconds before my mother came around the corner with Grace in her arms, headed for the bathroom and her morning bath. That next Sunday I dressed for church and was waiting in the car when my mother carried Grace out to put her in her car seat. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m going to church.” “Why?” “Really, Mother! I’m surprised you need to ask such a question. I should have been going all along.” “You hate church.” “That never mattered before,” I reminded her. She clenched her teeth and buckled Grace in her car seat. I leaned over Grace, kissed her, and made cooing noises at her. I was rewarded with one of her Jimmy smiles. When we arrived at church, I had Grace out of her car seat before my father even put the car in gear. I was holding her, smiling, when my mother opened the back door and reached for her. “I have her,” I said. “I can take her to the nursery; I know where it is.” “Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just keep her with me today.” “But she’s used to the nursery, and they’re expecting her.” “I’m sure a day away from the routine won’t upset anyone.” “Routine is important,” my mother said. “If you don’t stick to her routine, you’ll upset the balance.”

I had never given much thought to this my entire life. Now, though, I thought back over the years: up at six, breakfast at seven, school at seven-fifty, home at two or three—depending on the grade level, dinner at six, prayer…well, you get the point. I had not even realized how robotic our home was. I did not want the same for Grace. I pulled her against me. “I’ll take her to the nursery,” I said. On the way to the nursery, I had to the youth center. Gabby sidled along with hardly a glance my way as we ed. On a whim, I detoured into the youth center. All eyes turned toward me. I smiled, proud as could be when I presented Grace. Many of the kids seemed genuinely pleased to see me. Some even inquired as to when I would be returning to the group. Pastor Greg was enduring, to say the least, but I could tell he was glad when I took my leave. Next I stopped in Fellowship Hall. “See my little Grace,” I said to anyone who would stop to give me the time of day. A few smiled politely, while others gave me confused expressions. They all acted as if they hadn’t known I was expecting a child—even though it was a well-distributed gossip topic. One woman went so far as to side step me after glaring at me. I laughed off this one. I arrived at the nursery fifteen minutes behind schedule, which was going to make me late for Bible study. Mother was waiting, literally tapping her foot in frustration. When she saw me she put her hands on her hips. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Visiting,” I said. “You made us late for Bible study,” she accused. “I didn’t make you late,” I said. “You chose to wait for me here.” I smiled affectionately at Grace. “I wanted to show off my pride and joy.” Mrs. Babcock, the nursery steward, blushed in embarrassment. For me, or her? I didn’t know which. My mother grabbed the diaper bag from my shoulder, fairly well ripping it from me. She took out two bottles. “Ten o’clock this one,” she said. “This one is just in case. Put them in the refrigerator.” Mrs. Babcock reached for them, while saying, “I know the routine.”

Both women were startled when I reached for the bottles. “Neither is necessary,” I said. “If she needs to eat, just summon me on one of those pagers you have.” I pointed to the rows of pagers they handed out to parents in case their children were unruly. Because they were both staring at me I added, “I’m breastfeeding. We wouldn’t want to upset the routine. Would we?” I handed off the baby to Mrs. Babcock and made my way to Bible study. I entered the classroom and saw all my favorite friends from the exorcism attempt a few months back. I smiled sweetly and took a seat. I wasn’t in the least bit interested in what any of them had to say, but I feigned interest. I saw Mr. Jenkins lean over and whisper something to my father while looking at me. My father shook his head, laughed, and made finger quotes in the air. It occurred to me that they all expected me to be in the youth center, instead of the adult classroom. Given my “warm” reception earlier, it was clear to me I wasn’t welcome there, neither. All I wanted to do was crawl under a chair. I didn’t receive any pages during Bible study or church afterward. Either my mother had slipped Mrs. Babcock another bottle, or Grace wasn’t hungry. Church was just as boring as usual, and I had all I could do to stay awake. There were more people interested in me sitting in a pew, than were people paying attention to the sermon. I slunk down in the pew, closed my eyes, tuning them all out, and fell asleep. Gabby nudged me when it was over. The next Sunday, when my mother woke me for church, I pulled the covers over my head and said, “You win this round, Mother.” I tried calling Jennifer four times. “I’m sorry,” her mother always said, “she’s at a friend’s house,” or “she stayed after school for a committee meeting,” or the worst stab of all, “She’s at home-coming.” I hadn’t realized it was homecoming already, but just that week my mother had taken Gabby shopping. I did not give much thought to it at the time. I was just happy that she would be out of the house for a few hours. When they returned home, Gabby and she acted like a couple of conspiratorial teenagers. When they finished with their giggling, Gabby ran into her room and shut the door. “What’s up?” I asked my mother as I stirred spaghetti sauce that night.

“Nothing’s up,” she said. “Where did you and Gabby go this afternoon?” “Shopping.” I sensed I didn’t want to know the truth, so I let it drop. I don’t know why it hurt so much when I found out; I had never even gone to homecoming before. Perhaps it was because I had never asked, assuming my request would be denied. Or perhaps it was because my mother and sister had shared something I would never experience. More likely it was because if Jimmy had still been alive, he and I would be married right now and he would have taken me to homecoming. My sister appeared at the top of the stairs that night, looking like a radiant princess—a conservative, radiant princess mind you. Her dress was a shiny satin that rustled when she walked, but there was no sign of a plunging neckline, no off shoulder droop, no spaghetti straps, and certainly no backless dress for her. Nevertheless, it was still beautiful. Mother had allowed her a sleek fit that looked pretty, but not sexy. She had pulled her hair up high, letting it cascade around her face and down her back. I had always ired my sister’s hair, long and flowing with all the natural gloss a good healthy diet could bring. Mother had always refused us excessive beauty products, saying, “Beauty comes from within the body, and a good diet is all that’s needed for healthy looking hair.” She must have been right because Gabby’s hair was indeed beautiful. I preferred to wear mine a bit below my shoulders compared to her long, silky style. On a daily basis, I favored my hair, but on special occasions, I would have died for hers. Father came out of hibernation to inspect her appearance. He walked around her, lifted her hair off her back to inspect the back of the dress. He cupped her chin, turning her face to and fro to make sure her makeup wasn’t too heavy in all areas. When he finished his inspection, he said, “Well, all right then. Come and get me when this boy arrives.” Then he walked back into his den. Gabby squealed with delight. Even Grace, now entering her third month, giggled at her aunt’s exuberance. I smiled at Gabby with sentimental eyes. “You look beautiful,” I said.

“I wish you were coming with me,” she whispered. Technically, I could have gone. Even though I did my schoolwork at home, I was still enrolled in the high school. I didn’t feel right going, though. High school was over for me; I was a mother now. “Have fun, Gabs,” I said, and meant it. Her date arrived and father came to inspect again. He did the same dance around her date, Jonathan Wheeler that he had around Gabby. I suppressed a giggle at the frightened look on his face. It made me think of Jimmy, which made me sad. If Jimmy and I had met when I was Gabby’s age, would we still have fallen in love? I decided I didn’t want to know the answer because life without having loved Jimmy would have been a waste. I bid my sister goodnight and headed up the stairs with Grace. It was time for a feeding and bed for her. They were leaving early to go to dinner with another couple. Dressed in her pajamas, smelling all sweet like babies do, I settled into the rocker to feed her. That’s when I noticed how hot she was. I was stroking her cheek (I always did this when I fed her) and yanked back my hand when I touched her face. She had been cranky all day and felt slightly warm, but I had read in one of the books the hospital had given me that teething babies were sometimes like this. I couldn’t if she was too young to teethe. Panicking, I screamed, “Mother!” She burst through the door, her face as white as mine felt. “She’s burning with fever.” Mother rushed to my side and felt her forehead. Then she took her from my arms. “Babies get fevers,” she said. She laid her in her crib, then went to the bathroom and came back with a thermometer. She definitely had a temperature of 103. “What do we do?” I asked. “First you need to calm down,” she said. “I’ll call the doctor. Hopefully he’s still

in the office.” She left to make the call while I stood vigil over Grace’s crib. I watched her as she looked back at me. She didn’t look sick, but then what did I know about sick babies; I was barely more than one myself. Then I noticed something I hadn’t notice before. Her chest was heaving up and down, as if she were having difficulty breathing. Mother returned. I told her about the chest. She lowered the side of the crib and put her ear to Grace’s chest. “She has a rattle,” she said. “What did the doctor say?” Mother picked up Grace and headed for the door. “We have to bring her in for an appointment.” I hesitated near the crib. She turned and asked, “Are you coming?” “Are you inviting me?” Mother sighed and frowned at me. “As much as I want you to sign those adoption papers, you are still her mother, and her legal guardian in the eyes of the law. Only you can authorize medical care.” On one hand, I was touched to have been included in the outing to the doctor’s office. On the other hand, I was disappointed in the reason I was being included. Nevertheless, I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door, behind my mother and Grace. The pediatrician’s office was crowded. Apparently, children get sick a lot in the fall. We checked in and took our seats. I held Grace. I noticed the majority of the women in the waiting room were much older than I, but of course, that didn’t surprise me; they weren’t teenage mothers. What did surprise me, however, was their constant staring. I became so uncomfortable with it that after about fifteen minutes I handed Grace to my mother and glared at the busybody onlookers. I obviously made my point because they all looked away. We waited an hour for them to call Grace’s name. We both stood and walked into the room. “Only one of you,” the nurse said. My mother didn’t hesitate. She brushed past the nurse, leaving me open-mouthed and frustrated.

I sat in the waiting room, fuming as I attempted to read a magazine. Another young mother entered, checked in, and sat down next to me. The other waitingroom inhabitants wasted no time in swiveling their necks toward her. I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Apparently, it’s a crime to be a young mother,” I giggled. She shrugged. “I’m used to it,” she said. She wore black leather everything and had an earring sticking out of her left nostril. Her hair stuck out in tufts and was colored red on one side and blue on the other. She stuck out her tongue at our spectators, and I could see a tongue ring bobbing around on it. They all swiveled their heads back and my comrade smiled at me. “That’s all you have to do.” I laughed uproariously, which earned me a reprimanding stare from the secretary. “I’m Millicent Baker,” she said, sticking out her hand. She had long fingers, with long fingernails that were painted blue to match her hair. I accepted the offered hand. “Abby Stein.” “This is Colby Jenkins,” Millicent said. “He has his dad’s last name,” she said, as a way of explanation for the differing last names. “You’re not married, then?” She laughed. “Hell no! Ain’t nobody puttin' a ring on my finger—ever. Footloose and fancy-free spirit here,” she said, pointing at herself. “Do you want to hold him?” she asked. She didn’t give me a chance to answer but reached into the stroller and snatched him out, nearly throwing him in my arms. “He’s cute,” I said, though he wasn’t nearly as cute as Grace. I wondered if perhaps his mother would color his hair the way she had colored her own—when he got some. The door to the patient area opened and my mother stood there, wearing an angry face. “Abigail, give back that baby,” she said. She eyed Millicent up and down, frowning in distaste. “What are you thinking? Grace is sick and you’re

getting germs from other children all over you. Now you need to bathe before you hold her again.” “Damn!” Millicent exclaimed. She grimaced and looked at me. “She’s scary.” Mother frowned at her. “Your child needs you, Abigail. Give back that baby and get in here.” I thrust Colby back at his mother and rushed to the door. “What’s wrong?” “She has pneumonia,” Mother said as the door between the two rooms closed. “Dr. Valmer wants to hospitalize her.” Gasping, I said, “Is she going to be all right?” “I told you not to hold her so much,” Mother said. “Now she has picked up all your germs. I don’t know what is with you young mothers, just ing your babies around as if they are immune to everything.” She said this as we walked back to the exam room. Several of the staff turned to stare at her ranting as we ed. I bowed my head. If I didn’t look at them, I wouldn’t have to be so embarrassed. The doctor waited by the door. He had a stack of papers in his hand. He smiled at me, putting me somewhat at ease. “There’s the little mama,” he said, in an almost childlike voice. Why did everyone have to patronize me and make me feel as if I were ten-years-old. “Is she very sick?” I asked. The doctor smiled again. “Sick enough,” he said. “But she’ll be fine with a little medicine in her. I just need you to sign some papers.” I never dreamed it would take so many papers just to put a person in the hospital. I felt like I had just written a term paper by the time I finished. Then he had papers for Mother to sign. “What are those?” I asked. “Insurance forms,” my mother said, using her dismissive tone, which usually meant it was none of my business.

That’s when it hit me; I didn’t know a thing about paying for medical care. I had not given a thought to who paid for Graces hospital stay when she was born, or the two-week checkup, the six-week checkup, the injections they had given her last week. All my life my mother had taken me to the doctor, and I had never given it a second thought that she had to pay for those visits. I watched her sign the papers. “The insurance pays for Grace?” Mother snorted. “Some of it,” she said. “What they don’t pay, your father and I pay.” She shook her head when I gave her a blank stare. “What did you think, Abigail, that all these people provided care for your child out of the goodness of their hearts. They have to make a living, too.” She took Grace back from my arms and headed toward the door. She turned at the door and looked back at Dr. Valmer. “We’ll see you at the hospital. Come, Abigail.” She swept out the door. I followed, lowering my head to avoid eye with people. I felt so humiliated and stupid. Then I began to wonder how I could get Grace her own insurance.

At the hospital, they all treated mother as if Grace were her child. One nurse even went so far as to ask me if I was helping my mother out with my baby sister. Mother didn’t bother to correct her so neither did I. I wanted to cry seeing Grace with needles and tubes sticking out of her body. Neither did she like it. I had never realized babies could cry so hard as when the nurse stuck the needles in her arm. Worse for me was the matter-of-fact way in which she did it. “You’re hurting her,” I said, eager to play her protector. “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “It has to get in her arm someway.” After she left the room, I sat down beside the crib and cried. My mother shook her head and left. I assumed it was for a cup of coffee or something, but when she hadn’t returned after an hour had gone by, I began to worry. I checked Grace. She was still asleep, so I wandered out to the nurses’ station. “Have you seen my mother?” I asked the first nurse who paid any attention to me.

“I believe she went home,” she said. I frowned, pulling my eyebrows together. I cocked my head. “Are you sure?” She shrugged. “That’s what the note clipped to Grace’s chart says. Did you need something?” I wanted to say, “Yes, I need a mother to hold me, comfort me, and tell me she loves me.” I wanted to say, “Can you bring people back from the dead—because I could sure use Jimmy’s arms around me right about then.” I just shook my head and walked away. Grace wasn’t allowed to have any stuffed animals, no blankets from home, no clothes inside the oxygen tent they put her in. The room felt sterile—as did my heart. It was late in the evening by then and I was tired. The nurse came in and showed me how to operate a chair that turned into a bed. I followed her instructions and collapsed the minute it was out. I lay in the chair, saying repeatedly, “286-5113…286-5113…286-5113…2865113…” Jimmy’s phone number. He had made me memorize it, telling me I could call anytime I needed something. I looked over at the phone, so tempted to pick it up and…and what? Say, “Hello, this is Abby, your dead son’s girlfriend. Your granddaughter, the one you have no idea exists, is in the hospital with pneumonia.” What would be the point? I asked myself. They certainly couldn’t do anything about it. I was playing around with the gadgets attached to Grace’s crib and accidentally pushed a red button. I grimaced and dropped it. A moment later a nurse appeared in the doorway. “Yes?” “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do that.” She frowned at me. Her features hardened for a moment, but then softened. “Aw, sweetie, didn’t anyone tell you how to use anything?” I shook my head. Softly I said, “They showed my mother.” She came and stood beside me. She picked up the thing I had just pushed. “This

is the call button that summons help. Push it only if you need it.” I nodded. She reached above Grace’s crib and flipped a switch. Light flooded the room. “This turns on the light.” She pointed at the chair. “I see you already know how to operate the sleeper.” She opened a cabinet. “Extra linens and pillows.” She took out a blanket and a pillow and put them on the sleeper. She opened another cabinet. “Magazines and the Bible.” I shook my head. “I get enough of the Bible at home.” She laughed. “Follow me.” She led the way down a hallway. “This is the family vending area. There’s coffee, juice, crackers, jello, pudding, bagels. If you don’t see what you’re looking for just ask. We probably have it. It’s all free.” My eyes grew wide in surprise. “Free?” I asked. She nodded. “Can you find your way back?” I said that I could and watched her walk away. Coffee sounded really good. My mother didn’t like me to drink coffee, and I suppose it was for this reason I carried two cups back to Grace’s room. I peered in; she was still asleep. I set the cups down on the table next to the chair/bed, got one of the magazines from the cabinet, spread out the blanket and settled back to read and sip my coffee. For the first time that day, I actually felt like Grace’s mother. Grace woke two hours later, eager for a feeding. I had dozed off after drinking just one of the cups of coffee. The magazine had slid to the floor. I bent down and retrieved it. When I looked back up, I saw two kids from my school laughing in the corridor. A nurse made hushing gestures at them. One of the kids, a girl I knew as Katrina, but didn’t really know her, gave her a dirty look. Then she saw me, and her mouth dropped open. I hoped she would just travel on, but of course, she didn’t. For some reason she felt it necessary to enter Grace’s hospital room, as if it were public territory or something. “So,” she said, in her high and mighty snobbery way, “this is what happened to you. I heard you died giving birth to Jimmy’s kid.” The boy she was with (I don’t know his name), laughed. “I heard her parents

threw her out of the house and she ran away to Alaska.” I shook my head. “If you two have had your fun, please move on.” “I say when we move on,” Katrina quipped. To my horror, she came even farther into the room and peered into Grace’s crib. “It is kind of cute,” she said. “Looks like Jimmy.” “She,” I corrected. “She is not an it.” “Whatever,” Katrina threw back, rolling her eyes. “Isn’t it homecoming or something,” I said. The girl sobered. “Yes, but unfortunately, Ryan Charles crashed his bike and now he’s in the hospital for God only knows how long. I thought—” “We,” her friend corrected. She smiled. “Yes, of course, sorry about that. We thought it was much more appropriate to spend the evening with Ryan.” “How generous of you,” I said. “Perhaps you could find Ryan and leave us alone.” I said this pointing my finger at Grace, and then at me, for emphasis— just in case she didn’t catch my meaning in my tone. She laughed and I knew I had made a mistake. I may not have known Katrina well, but I knew her type well enough to know her pride would not allow her to leave on my direction. She pulled up a chair, as if we were best friends and she was going to comfort me. “How long is she in for?” I sighed. I might have found the gesture comforting, if I knew she was sincere. Then suddenly an idea came to me. “It’s hard to say,” I said, and tried with all my heart to hide a smile. “Viral meningitis can take a while to heal.” Her mouth dropped and went wide. A nervous flush came to her face. Her friend backed away to the door. “Isn’t that contagious?”

“Oh yes!” I said. In my head, I quickly asked for my now commonplace forgiveness from God. I hoped He’d understand. “It’s very contagious.” I didn’t really know if it was or not, but I wanted this girl out of my room. Suddenly, she rose. “I guess we’d better get on to see Ryan before visiting hours are over,” she said as she nearly ran to the door. They didn’t even bother to say goodbye, just rushed out the door as fast as they could. I smiled at my wicked ways. I looked up. “Sorry, God, desperate times and all that.” When the humor left me, I sat and thought about them. This was my senior year and I was missing so much. If it weren’t for becoming a mother, I would be at the homecoming dance. Most likely I’d be stag with Jennifer, having tagged along with whatever date she had snagged, but I would be there. I laid back my head against the chair and began drifting off to sleep. I thought I was only in a light slumber, but I began to dream of Jimmy. He was holding Grace and smiling at me. “She’s so beautiful, Abby. You did a great job.” In the dream we were living in a little house on the edge of a stream. The place looked familiar, and then I realized it was Grandma Max’s house. “We did a great job, Jimmy.” I said, smiling back. “We made her together.” Then the dream changed and my father was standing with Grace in his arms, while Jimmy and I both reached out for her. “Give us our baby,” we cried in unison. My father laughed and walked away. Grace was crying, and I was screaming for him to give her to me, but he kept laughing. Then my mother ed him and said, “You didn’t really think you could take care of a baby, did you, Abby? Babies need the expertise of a mother, not a silly girl.” Grace cried harder, and I was crying out, “Give her to me.” “Abby,” I heard my name called. “Abby,” the person called again, and I felt my shoulder shake.

I sat bolt upright, looking around, confused. My mother stood by the crib. She reached in and lifted Grace, who had been screaming at the top of her lungs from the crib. “Abby, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you even hear your own baby cry? What kind of mother lets her child scream like that?” I stared hard at Mother, narrowing my eyes in a hateful way. Can’t you hear me scream? I thought, lacking the courage to say the words aloud. “What’s wrong with her?” I said instead. “I imagine she’s hungry.” “What are you doing here?” I asked. Mother sighed. “God told me to come. He knew Grace needed me.” “I was handling things just fine,” I protested. “Not according to God,” Mother said. Grace was looking at me, and I believed she was reaching for me, but my mother held her back. I held out my arms to her. “Let me have her, please. I need to feed her.” Mother ignored me and said instead, “I brought her favorite formula.” Then she proceeded to take out some formula from a bag she had brought with her. “I also brought her favorite teddy bear.” Heat seared through me, flaming its way to my face by way of a strong pressure buildup. In my mind I heard Jimmy telling me to stay calm. I took in a breath, counted to ten, and felt my body cool. I clenched my teeth to keep from exploding in the hospital room. “She doesn’t have a favorite formula,” I said. “I’m breastfeeding, ? And,” I added, “they don’t like stuffed animals in here; they carry germs.” I darned near ripped Grace out of my mother’s arms. A big mistake because Mother took on her angry, stern expression—pursed lips and all, and said, “Your father and I have discussed it, and we both agree. You should return to school next week.”

“No,” I flatly said. Mother was shocked; it showed in her expression. “No?” she said, obviously not believing I had said that. “Grace needs me,” I said, softening my reply. I should have known that my impromptu bravery would come with repercussions. I also knew very well that she and my father had not discussed me returning to school. “It’s not open for discussion,” she said, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re still a minor, despite this.” She waved her hands in a rolling motion, gesturing Grace’s presence. I knew better than to deal with that look. One word out of my mouth and I was sure to find myself locked in the closet again—or worse, shipped off to my grandmother’s, without Grace. She took Grace back from me. I did not resist. I clamped shut my mouth and allowed my mother to feed the baby a bottle. My breasts were sore, long overdue for a feeding, and as I watched Grace suck greedily on the bottle, I was filled with hatred toward my mother. She rocked Grace and sang her a lullaby. Tina, one of the nurses, entered the room, looked at my mother, and then at me—clearly distraught, and frowned. “Why isn’t Grace nursing, Abby?” “Poor Abigail is so exhausted; I thought she could use the break,” my mother piped in. “Is that right, Abby? Are you too tired to feed Grace?” I opened my mouth to speak, heard clearly my father’s words echo in my head as they poured from my lips, “Thou shalt honor thy father, and thy mother.” I pulled my feet into the chair, curling up in a ball. I wept. My tears dripped down my legs as my mother continued the lullaby, and Tina stomped out of the room, fuming. The next day Grace was better and the doctor said we could take her home. Mother had not stayed the entire night, but that didn’t surprise me. She would never have survived an entire night in that chair.

Just before she arrived to pick up Grace and me, a woman walked into the room. She was beautiful with long, dark hair, a thin build, and a friendly smile. She walked right up to me, as if she knew me, stuck out her hand, and said, “Hi, Abigail. I’m Sondra Samuels. I’m a social worker with the hospital.” My smile dropped. Jennifer had told me that sometimes they take babies away from mothers who are too young to take care of them. My heart started beating fast. I shook her hand so she wouldn’t think me rude. “Tina told me you might be in need of some help with Grace.” “No,” I said, shaking my head. “The doctor said it wasn’t my fault Grace got sick.” “I’m not here because Grace got sick,” she said. I eyed her warily. “I don’t understand.” She sighed, and I could tell she was getting impatient. I just didn’t know what all this was about. Finally, I just asked her, “Are you going to take Grace away from me? My friend Jennifer said I’m too young to be a mother, and social services would take her away from me if I didn’t do a good job as a mother.” She took a deep breath and smiled. “So that’s why you’re so nervous.” She touched my hand with hers. It felt comforting. “I’m not here to take Grace from you,” she said. I shook my head, more confused than ever. “Tina said you’re doing a good job with Grace. She said you’re even trying to breastfeed.” “Oh,” I said, and lowered my eyes. So that’s what it was all about. Tina’s anger yesterday was because I didn’t breastfeed Grace. Did that make me a bad mother? “Does it embarrass you when I talk about breastfeeding?” “No,” I said. “Jimmy said breastfeeding was the most natural thing to do, and his mother breastfed him and his brother, and his grandmother breastfed all her babies. He really wanted me to breastfeed our baby. The doctor said it was important for Grace’s health.” I lowered my head. “I’m doing the best I can,” I whispered, half of me not wanting her to hear.

“What are you doing about school?” I smiled. This I had covered. I picked up my discarded history book and showed it to her. “Independent study,” I said. Then I picked up the SAT book I had picked up from the library and showed that to her as well. “I’m getting good grades,” I said. “It must be hard studying with Grace around,” she said. “I study when she’s asleep.” “What about friends?” “I have Grace,” I said. I knew from the way she frowned, this was not the answer she was looking for. “Tina said your mother seems attached to Grace.” I grew angry, but tried my hardest not to show it. “She helps,” I said. “Helps?” she said and raised an eyebrow at me. “Yeah.” I could feel my heart thumping against my chest wall and hoped she couldn’t see it. Her questions made me uncomfortable, so I got up and walked to Grace’s crib. She was sleeping peacefully, but just so I had something to do, I reached in and picked her up. I sat in the chair with her. She stirred and the social worker smiled at us. “She looks natural in your arms.” It felt like this was a good thing, so I smiled back at her. “It’s clear you love her. Tell me about your day.” I sighed. Grace had fallen back to sleep. I put her over my shoulder and patted her back. I started rocking with her. “I get up in the morning and take my shower before Grace wakes up. Then I feed Grace, give her a bath and play with her until it’s time for her nap. Then I start my studies. She wakes up around noontime and wants to eat again. The doctor

said I could start her on cereals next month. We’re looking forward to that.” I smiled again. She laughed. “If it’s nice outside, I take her for a walk after lunch. Then she’s ready for another nap, and I study some more. “After dinner Gabby sometimes takes her and plays with her while I study my SATs. Mother doesn’t approve so she won’t help with that.” “Your mother doesn’t approve of you studying for the SATs?” I shook my head. “She doesn’t think I should go to college.” I added in my head, unless I give her Grace. “But she helps out when you’re doing schoolwork?” I laughed nervously. “She said she has to or the school board will get on her about me falling behind.” She laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. I can tell that about people…if they’re genuine or not. I didn’t care though. It wasn’t as if I like my mother. “How does your mother feel about the baby?” She hadn’t seen Mother enter the room, but I did. I glanced nervously at the door. Mother stood there with flaring anger in her eyes. “What’s all this about!” she demanded. Sondra stood and smiled at Mother—her fake smile. “You must be Mrs. Stein,” she said. She held out the same hand she had to me earlier. “I’m Sondra Samuels. I’m with the hospital’s social services department. They thought it would be a good idea if I talked with Abby—given her age.” “We don’t need social services. My husband makes plenty of money to take care of us, and Grace.” She bustled past her and took Grace from me. I didn’t dare speak out for fear of losing Grace, so I remained silent. “We aren’t just about money, Mrs. Stein. We want to make sure Grace and Abby have all the they need.”

“Pardon me,” my mother said. I felt sorry for Sondra because I could tell Mother was about to lose her temper. Even with Grace in her arms, she yelled, “Get the hell out of this room! Abigail doesn’t need social services, or anyone else babysitting her. She is still a minor, and still under my guardianship. We will see that Abigail and Grace have everything they need.” She started inching forward, forcing Sondra to take a step back. But Sondra was stronger than I had given her credit. She shook her head, stepped forward and got into Mother’s face. “Abby’s becoming a mother changes a lot of things,” she said. “She could apply for emancipation if she so chose.” Mother laughed. “Abigail wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of herself, let alone a baby. She wouldn’t survive without me.” Mother said this with a haughty attitude, throwing back her shoulders while she transferred Grace to her hip. She looked ridiculous, and it was all I could do to keep from laughing. Sondra smiled at me, nodding her head. “She seems to be doing a pretty good job,” she said. She stepped around mother, which caused mother to purse her lips and clench her fists. She handed me a card. “If you need anything, Abby, you just call. Okay?” I took the offered card and thanked her. She walked to the door but turned around before leaving. “I mean it, Abby. You call me for anything.” I nodded. When she left, my mother tried to take the card. “It’s mine,” I said and stuffed it into my school bag. Then, just because I was feeling rebellious, I took back Grace. I took Grace to bed with me that night, which brought me a tongue-lashing from Mother about all the hazards of sleeping with a baby. I didn’t need her to tell me, I had read all of the book the hospital gave me, but I needed her that night. After Grace had fallen asleep, I laid and watched her, picking out all the parts of her that were Jimmy’s. She smiled. I laughed, wondering what wonderful dream she was having. “She has your smile, Jimmy,” I said. I looked heavenward,

knowing that was where he was. “Am I doing okay?” I asked him, but heard nothing. I laid my head down next to Grace again, touching her hands and face with one finger. I got as close as I could without risking waking her, and sang her a song that Jimmy had taught me. Tiny little one, so soft and sweet, stealer of my heart, beneath which you sleep, I will hold you dear and keep you safe from harm, until you reach an age that’s filled with charm... I stopped here, repeating the verse because I couldn’t all the words. Jimmy used to sing this to our baby when he came to visit me at night. His mother sang the lullaby to him when he was little. I had giggled the first time he sang it. “Your mother must be so wonderful,” I’d said. He had kissed the top of my head. “Just wait until you meet her, Abby. She is going to love you as much as I do.” Before I drifted off to sleep, I picked up Grace and laid her in her crib. Then I sat in the rocking chair and watched her sleep. Gabby woke me the next morning by shaking me. I opened my eyes and looked at her. “You can’t sleep in that rocker every night,” she said and then walked out. I stretched, yawned, and rubbed my neck muscles. I looked in Grace’s crib but she was gone. I flew from the chair and ran down the stairs screaming Grace’s name. “What the devil are you yelling about?” my father asked. He was sitting at the table reading the newspaper. Gabby was seated in her usual spot and didn’t even bother to look at me. She was cute in a new outfit of jeans and a pullover sweater. I couldn’t the last time my parents bought me clothes. They hadn’t even asked me if I needed any. I had some money left from my job, but I was saving that to buy Grace some clothes. I had contemplated the thought that I would have to return to work soon. I just

didn’t know how I was going to do that with a baby, without further indebting myself to Mother. “Where’s Grace?” I asked. “Your mother has her,” my father replied, not bothering to take his nose out of the paper. I went in search of Grace and found her in the bathroom with mother, getting her bath. “I give Grace her baths,” I said. My mother turned around and shook her head. “It’s only a bath.” I walked back out, secretly grateful that I would have a few extra minutes to myself. I ran up the stairs, into my bedroom and….just stood there. I didn’t know what to do. I felt so lost without Grace to fulfill my morning routine. I didn’t see my father much anymore—usually just at dinner. I wasn’t even allowed at the evening Bible study anymore because my father couldn’t stand to look at me. When I did see him, he was glowering at me. I became so selfconscious that I started planning my trips downstairs when he wasn’t around. If I needed to use the phone I had to seek permission. The only computer in the house (now that my laptop had been confiscated) was in his office. If I needed to type a school project, I had to ask permission—and then one of my parents would supervise me, sitting in the corner shooting dagger eyes at me the entire while. With Jimmy gone there was no reason for me to use the computer anymore, other than my schoolwork. I longed to be like any other teenager and do the whole Facebook thing—just so I could feel some sense of normalcy in my life. I began to wonder what had happened to the laptop. One day, I went downstairs, expecting father to be in his den, but he wasn’t. Mother was at a church meeting, and Gabby was at school. Grace had just settled down for a nap, and I had come to raid the food closet for something to eat. I was losing weight and knew that wasn’t good for Grace. Puzzled by Father’s absence, I wandered back upstairs and walked to his bedroom door. It was open. I rapped on it but heard no reply. “Father, are you in

here?” When he didn’t answer, I walked inside and looked around. The room was neat and tidy, like the rest of the house. Mother was a meticulous housekeeper. I looked around, for what I didn’t know. Confident the house was empty, I began opening closet doors and rummaging through them. It wasn’t hard; everything was neat and tidy—and labeled. My search of my parents’ room brought no results. I went down to my father’s den and started opening drawers. One was locked, but that was hardly large enough to hold a laptop, anyway. I found nothing incriminating in my father’s den—not even any hidden pornography that many of the kids had joked about finding in their fathers’ secret hiding places. For a few brief moments, I wondered if Father had thrown it away. I dismissed this thought. He was much too frugal for that. If anything, he would have tried to sell it. I went into the laundry room. I didn’t really believe it would be there. That would totally be out of place, and I knew my mother wouldn’t be able to stand for that. Nonetheless, I searched anyway, finding, as I suspected: laundry soap, fabric softener, stain remover, an ironing board, iron, dryer sheets for doing her own dry cleaning, and an abundant stock of plastic hangers—but no laptop. There was no place in the living room to stash it, as everything was open-shelves in there. Then a thought began to form in my mind. I took the stairs two-at-a-time and came to stand in front of Gabby’s door. I had never entered Gabby’s room without permission, nor had she mine, at least not to the best of my knowledge. I opened the door slowly, peered inside. The room was dark, the bed neatly made. No clothes draped the laundry hamper but were stuffed orderly inside with the lid closed—Mother’s training. Mine was the same way. The walls were bare, except for Mother’s carefully chosen art. I had been living this way my entire life so it wasn’t surprising to me, but for the first time I realized how sterile our bedrooms were. I looked in the same place I had kept it, but there was nothing there. Her nightstand drawer held only her Bible and a journal. I lifted the journal, tempted, but put it back without opening it.

I opened one side of her closet. This side had only hanging clothes and nothing else. I saw several clothing items I didn’t recognize and realized that at some point, Mother had taken my sister school shopping. I had been so wrapped up in my grief and caring for Grace, that I had not noticed the everyday things going on around me. I felt a stab of regret as I envisioned previous back to school shopping trips—the one day a year I actually enjoyed going out in public with my mother. I browsed through the garments, pushing each one aside and perusing every inch and detail of it. Not a single item of last year’s clothes remained. I knew these would have been boxed up and donated to the church for its annual parking lot sale. I sighed and closed the closet door, feeling a pang of desire swell within my heart. The other side of the closet had built-in shelving. This is where Gabby would keep things such as art supplies, music CDs…things like that. I opened the door and began scanning the shelves. I found her art pad and took it out. I opened the front cover and smiled when I saw a picture of Grace laughing. I turned the page and saw a picture of me sleeping in the rocker by Grace’s bed. I closed my eyes and then closed the art tablet. On the third shelf, just slightly above eye level, I found what I was looking for— my laptop. I clutched it to me as memories flooded back. The day Jimmy gave it to me seemed so fresh in my mind that I might have thought it was yesterday. I took the laptop, closed the door, and ran back to my room. I opened it and began looking at the folders. Jimmy had sent me a file of pictures. All of them were of him at various stages in his life. I had given it a generic name, so that it would look like an operating file. Then I had protected it. I was in luck; the file was still there. I opened it and started a slide show of all the pictures of Jimmy. I sat back and watched the images of my true love fade in and out across the screen as tears slipped down my cheeks. Grace started to cry. I looked at the clock. I had been so wrapped up in looking for the computer that I hadn’t realized how much time had slipped by. I realized Mother would be home in less than an hour. I changed Grace, played with her for a few minutes, and then rocked her back to sleep. Then I looked around for a new hiding place for the laptop, but no place seemed safe. I realized the best place would not be in my bedroom.

I took the laptop and snuck into Grace’s room. I looked around, wondering where my mother wouldn’t find it. I did Grace’s laundry, so I supposed I could put it in the bottom of the laundry hamper, but I worried the moisture from the damp clothes might ruin it. Besides, what if Mother decided to do the laundry? I opened the closet. Way up on the top shelf was a box that had a blanket in it. Mrs. Pinkerton had knitted it for me, but Mother didn’t like it, so she stuffed the box out of sight. I pulled down the box, lifted out the blanket and put the laptop inside. This would give me access when Grace was asleep late at night. I put back the box and picked up my English Lit book, just in time for Mother to walk in the front door. I heard her coming up the stairs and tried to find as natural a pose as possible. I lay down on the carpet, propped my head in my hand and began reading. I looked up when she opened the door. “How long has she been asleep,” she asked. I shrugged nonchalantly. “A couple hours.” “You should wake her and feed her.” Then she was gone. I shook my head. She hadn’t even bothered to ask how I was or say hello. I didn’t need to wake Grace because she rolled over when Mother closed the door. “Hey, sweetums,” I cooed, and was rewarded with a big smile. I fed her and then took her downstairs. Mother was unpacking some groceries she had picked up. Jars of baby food stood lined up on the counter. “What are those for?” I asked. Mother shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure even you are smart enough to figure that out.” Her insult stung and I blinked back tears. I was overawed by her lack of love and . Here I was about to turn seventeen and taking care of a baby—all the while pulling a 3.5 in school.

“I don’t want her to have baby food from a jar. Besides, the doctor said cereal next month.” “Those doctors don’t know anything,” she said. “She’s old enough for baby food.” “I wanted to make my own.” “Oh for heaven’s sake, Abigail, be reasonable. When do you have time to make baby food?” “My book says it’s better for her.” “Those books are only there so people can get rich off them when ignorant people, who can’t think for themselves, buy them.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I hope you didn’t spend your measly savings on foolish books; you have a baby to provide for.” My mouth dropped open. I couldn’t believe what she was saying, one minute she’s telling the social worker not to worry about things the baby needs, the next she’s imploring me to spend my money. I gave up on the baby food argument. I wasn’t going to win anyway. I took Grace back upstairs to play. After dinner, I changed Grace into her blanket sleeper and sat down to feed her. My sister walked into the nursery and stared at me. “What?” She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, and walked back out. I smiled knowingly. Grace fell asleep eating. I put her in her crib, leaned over and kissed her. As I left the room, I glanced toward my secret storage space. I was sitting on my bed, cross-legged when Gabby burst through the door. She stared at me. I shook my head. “What do you want, Gabby?” “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” “You know.” “No, I don’t know.” She stared at me. I knew she was in a quandary. If she accused me of stealing my own property, then she would it to having it, and that would make her look bad. She backed out of the room, pulling the door hard behind her. I smiled again. I heard her in her room opening closets and drawers, but I ignored her and tried to return my concentration to my studies. At nine forty-five I heard the family retire. At ten thirty I tiptoed into Grace’s room. She was just stirring, looking for a latenight snack. I picked her up, changed her, and put her back in her crib. She giggled as I tickled her tummy and wiggled her toes. I left her playing with her feet, and took down the laptop. I spread out one of Grace’s blankets, set the laptop on top of it, turned it on, and then pulled up what I wanted; pictures of Jimmy. Then I got Grace from her crib and sat down on the blanket with her on my lap. I started the slideshow. “That’s your daddy, Grace.” I would swear she understood me because she started flailing her arms and jumping up and down on my lap. I turned her and compared her with her father, smiling at all the familiar features she had inherited from him. “He was a great person,” I said, “and you and I would have been so happy with him.” Tears dripped from my eyes, and I wiped them away. I was not going to cry, not in front of Grace. I didn’t want her thinking her daddy caused me pain. She grew bored with the pictures, so I laid her down beside me. Then I tried connecting to the internet, hoping I could catch up on Facebook. When I entered the to connect, I was denied access. This didn’t surprise me, as I figured he would have changed the . I played a few games, but quickly

grew tired of that. Grace was getting sleepy, so I put her back in her crib and kissed her goodnight. Then I put the laptop back in its new hiding place and trotted off to bed. Content with the memory of Jimmy’s face, I fell into a deep slumber. I was awakened the next morning by my sister slamming through my bedroom door. “Where is it?” she demanded. “Where is what?” I asked, coming to an alert status. My heart pounded from the sudden wakening, and I placed my hand over it, as if that would slow it down. “My laptop!” I smiled. “You mean my laptop,” I said. “I haven’t a clue.” “Liar!” she accused. I stared at her in surprise, wondering at what point she had completely ed their team. “I am not a liar!” I protested, coming to stand a few feet from her. “You went into my closet and stole my laptop. I know you did.” I looked at the cold stare in my sister’s eyes and wanted to cry. My confidant, my friend…my only means of solace in this bitter household was gone. If you can’t beat them, them? I wondered. My father interjected his body between us. “Abigail Stein you give back that laptop right now.” “It’s my laptop,” I said. “Jimmy gave it to me.” My mother spoke from the corner. When she did I turned to look at her. She was holding Grace in her arms and was feeding her a bottle. My mouth gaped open. “Now, Abigail. There’s really no need for this kind of tantrum. You don’t need the laptop. You have Grace to keep you busy. Gabriella needs it for schoolwork.” “I need it for schoolwork,” I said, “and why are you feeding Grace a bottle

again? I’ve told you a million times that I’m breast-feeding.” My father completely ignored the conversation between me and my mother. “Sign the papers,” he said, “What?” “I said sign the papers and I’ll give you back the laptop.” I stared with incredulity. “You’re blackmailing me with my baby. You’re actually asking me to trade her for a piece of property. I don’t believe this. What kind of twisted family is this?” I made a move to grab Grace from my mother. My father stopped me by grabbing my arm in a vice grip. “Ouch you’re hurting me,” I cried. “Sign the papers,” he said through gritted teeth. “No.” I tried to wrench free from his grasp but he held tight. “Sign the papers,” he repeated. “No,” I said. He let go this time and I took Grace from my mother. I carried her to the nursery and settled us both in the rocking chair. I offered her my breast but she refused. I tried several times but each time she just turned her head away. Frustrated, I relented and gave her the bottle, which she greedily sucked down. Tears slipped down my face as I watched my baby drink. My mother had weaned her from my breast. I felt as if a cord had been severed. When Grace fell asleep, I laid her in her crib. I walked downstairs to get something to eat. My mother was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and reading her Bible. She looked up when I entered. “Your father wants you to get a job,” she said. I was rummaging in the refrigerator, my back turned to her. I closed my eyes and

took a deep breath. “What about Grace?” I asked. “I’ll watch her, of course,” she said. I didn’t need to look at her to know she wore a smug expression. I closed the refrigerator without retrieving anything. I didn’t look at my mother as I fled the room. I threw on a pair of jeans and a blouse, my boots, and my denim jacket. I ran out the door and didn’t stop running until I got to Mr. Pinkerton’s store. Breathless, I opened the door and stepped inside. He greeted me with a huge grin. “Hey!” he exclaimed, and my heart soared at the prospect that someone was happy to see me. “Where have you been?” he asked. “How’s that baby?” I smiled the best I could. “She’s great. Do you want to see a picture?” “I thought you’d bring her by for a visit,” he scolded, “but I’ll take the picture.” I rummaged in my pocketbook until I found one. I handed it to him. “She’s beautiful,” he said. “May I,” he asked, indicating the photo. I nodded and he put the picture in his pocket. I wondered if my father carried one in his wallet. “Do you need any help?” I asked. “You bet I do,” he said. “I was kind of holding your job open for you, hoping you’d be back. When can you start?” “Right now,” I said and donned an apron. “Who’s minding the baby?” he asked. “My mother,” I said, spitting out the words. “Aw,” he said.

Customers entered, saving me from any further interrogation. I turned to serve whoever it was that stood at the counter. I locked eyes with Katrina. She grinned at me. “Well, well, guys. I guess the little mommy’s working the counter for old man Pinkerton. The baby must have died or something.” I clinched my teeth. “Grace is just fine. What can I poison you…I mean what can I get for you?” I asked. She narrowed her eyes at me. “White trash,” she called. “Leave her alone, Kat,” the boy standing beside her said. “Aw, Ryan, I’m just funning with her. It’s a joke—you know that, right little mommy?” I sighed and smirked. “Whatever you say.” I repeated my question. “What can I get for you?” Mr. Pinkerton came out of the back. “Everything okay?” “Just fine,” I said, smiling. Deep inside, I wanted to jump over the counter and choke the life out of Katrina. Ryan stepped forward and smiled. “Double scoop chocolate,” he said. “And lowfat yogurt for my friend here.” He leaned forward and whispered, “She popped the zipper on her cheer uniform yesterday. She can use a diet.” I laughed. Katrina gave him a disgusted look. He shrugged and took out his wallet. “I’ll have raspberry sorbet,” Katrina said. He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “It’s her reputation,” he smirked. He paid me and then held out his hand. “I’m Ryan.” I shook it. “Abby.” “Yeah, I know. Jimmy talked about you all the time. How’s the baby?” “She’s great,” I said.

I gave him his change and he turned to walk away. Then he leaned back. “Don’t bother with her.” He whispered. “She had a thing for Jimmy.” I looked at Katrina and suddenly saw pain in her eyes, previously mistaken for hostility. She sobered and quickly replaced the look with contempt, her pride not allowing us to console each other. “Come on, Ryan,” she said. “Let’s go.” He let her walk out the door while he waited for the ice cream. He smiled as I placed the cups in his hands. “See ya around?” he asked. I nodded, even though I knew he wouldn’t, and watched him walk out the door. I finished my shift and said goodbye to Mr. Pinkerton. I promised him I would return the next day and set off for home. Ryan and Katrina’s visit had got me thinking about Jimmy and I was sad. An image of Grace immediately came to mind. As if with a will of their own, my legs detoured and headed toward Jimmy’s house. I had no idea why I went there, or what I was expecting to do once I got there, but I found myself standing across the street. I waited for a half hour, trying to get up the courage to cross the street and ring the doorbell. Could I do it? Could I walk across that street and let them know they had a granddaughter? Would it shatter their memory of Jimmy? Or would it be a relief knowing that a piece of him remained on this earth? The front door opened. A man, and a woman, whom I ed to be his parents, walked out. His mother looked sad and weary. His father opened the car door for her and assisted her inside. Then he got behind the driver’s seat and backed out of the driveway. I ducked behind a tree. A few minutes after they pulled out of the driveway, a boy about my sister’s age came out of the house bouncing a basketball. He bounced the ball down the driveway and to a house a few doors down. Another kid, about the same age, came out and they headed down the street together. I ed Jimmy saying he used to play pickup games at the parks and rec center with his brother on a regular occasion. And so life goes on, I thought to myself, before heading home to the dungeon. I fell into my new routine of waking, showering, eating, dressing, playing with

Grace, going to work…I tried to squeeze schoolwork into the equation, but with Mother constantly hovering and interfering with my relationship with Grace, it was difficult. Then one day the unthinkable happened—Grace chose Mother over me. I had worked an extra shift because it was Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton’s anniversary, and he wanted to surprise her with flowers and a dinner date. I phoned Mother to let her know I would be late. She was flippant, said, “It’s just like you, Abigail, to put your work before your daughter. Don’t worry, I, as usual, am here to pick up the slack.” Then the line went dead. When it was time to close the store, I wiped down the counters and locked up. As I was turning the open sign to closed, I noticed a group of kids hanging on the corner. I had never been a “corner hanger” but they really looked as if they were having fun. There were three boys and two girls. One of the boys stood behind one of the girls, his arms encircling her waist as she rested the back of her head against his chest. The other girl and another boy held hands. They were all watching the third boy and laughing as he spoke with ion and made wild, comical gestures with his hands. Heaving a deep sigh, my heart heavy with envy, I trudged home, eagerly awaiting a smile from my beautiful daughter. That was not to happen, though. When I got home, Mother had Grace and was giving her the final bottle of the evening. As I usually did this, I was surprised. “What are you doing?” I asked. Mother sighed and looked at me from my coveted rocking chair. “Well, I just figured if you didn’t care enough about your daughter to come home at a decent hour to feed her, then I was going to have to do it.” “But it’s only eight o’clock,” I protested. “Grace doesn’t have her final bottle until nine.” “She’s fussy tonight,” Mother retorted. “An hour early isn’t going to hurt her.” “That’s not your decision,” I said. “She’s my child.” “You’d never know from the lack of care you give her.” Her words stung worse than if my father had taken a belt to me. I wanted to

smack my mother so hard right then, but I took a deep breath and calmed myself. “You and Father are the ones who insisted I go back to work.” “Yes, well, that doesn’t help Grace a whole lot now, does it?” I could feel the quizzical expression on my face, could feel the onslaught of another confrontation coming on, but I was incapable of stopping it. I took a deep breath, blew it out, felt the rush as I screamed. “What the hell do you expect from me!” About that time, I felt myself yanked backward by my hair. My father turned me to face him. His eyes bore into mine. “Just who do you think you are, speaking to your mother like that? Of all the ungrateful acts I’ve ever seen you do, that one takes the cake. Your mother works hard around here tending to this house. On top of that she has your bastard child to look after. You want to whore around and then come home and expect your mother to pick up the slack for you!” He was nearly puffing from the exertion of spewing those words at me. I had never seen his face so red before. What if he died of a heart attack? Would that be my fault? Each one of his words felt like a knife cutting through me. I didn’t know which was worse, mother accusing me of shirking my responsibility as a mother, or my father calling me a whore. I didn’t feel like either one of those statements applied to me, but still it stung. “It wouldn’t be all that bad,” my mother interjected, calmly so she could appeal to me, “except that you won’t even let your father and I adopt the poor child, so she can get away from the stigma of being a bastard.” “She is not a bastard!” I screamed. “Jimmy and I loved each other and we were going to get married.” I whirled on my father. “If you hadn’t driven him out of here that night, he would still be alive and we would be married by now. Then none of this would be happening. It’s all your fault.” “God seeks justice in his own way,” my father retorted. “Jimmy was a sinner and God took care of him.” I stared disbelievingly. “You really believe that?” Father left the room without answering, returned a moment later carrying his Bible and the ever-hateful adoption papers. He opened the Bible and, standing

close enough for me to see the pupils in his eyes, read ages to me he had previously marked. After the tenth reading I could stand it no more. “Shut up,” I yelled. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.” Grace flinched and started crying. “See what you did,” Mother said, pinching her lips together in an angry stare. Father thrusts the papers at me. “Sign them and God will redeem you.” “No,” I said and shoved them back at him. “Don’t you care about your child?” Mother asked, her tone condescending. I screamed, “I love her!” Father read another scripture. I took on that childish pose of placing both hands over my ears and saying, “La, la, la…” “Very mature,” my father spewed at me and thrusts the papers back at me. “Sign them,” he said between clenched teeth. I attempted to step past him, but he blocked the doorway. “Sign them.” I shook my head and backed up against the wall. Father followed me, jamming the papers into my face. “Sign them.” Then he slapped me and I started to cry. “Sign them.” “No,” I cried and reached for my baby. She turned away, burying her face in my mother’s chest. Father slapped me again, spewed some more Bible nonsense and said again, “Sign them.” Then he grabbed my right hand, placed the pen in it, clasped my fingers around it, and held the papers out before me. “Sign them.” I was crying hysterically by then, but Father persisted. “God will damn you to hell if you don’t do right by your bastard child.”

His breath was on my face, turning my stomach to a churning mess. “No,” I cried weakly. Father picked up my hand, placed it where the signature belonged, got close to my ear and said, “Sign it or else.” I felt the vomit rise to my throat. Unable to bear my father’s presence any longer, eager to dispel the bile from my body, I scribbled my name across the bottom and bolted from the room. I wretched repeatedly, until there was nothing left in my stomach. When I was finished, I collapsed against the wall, sick at what I’d done, loathing myself for it. I couldn’t believe I had just given away my baby. I wanted to kill myself right then and there. How could I have done such a thing? How could I live without my baby? Even worse, how could I have betrayed Jimmy so? And then I thought—if I killed myself and went to heaven, would I be able to face Jimmy after giving his daughter away? The thought sickened me and I vomited again. I don’t know how long I stayed in that bathroom, but when I emerged the house was quiet. I walked from room to room, looking for any sign of life. Mother and Father’s room was empty, as was Gabby’s. The kitchen was cold and bare, no lingering smells from blandly prepared foods. There was no Bible study going on in the den. I decided they must have gone out to celebrate their win. I trudged back up to Grace’s room. I collapsed in the rocker. Flashbacks of me breastfeeding my precious little girl raced through my mind, making me angry. I grunted in frustration, rose from the rocker and tore the bedding from her crib. Exhausted, I collapsed in the rocker. I clutched the blankets tightly against me, weeping for my loss. I longed for Jimmy to hold me and tell me all would be well. Then again, if Jimmy were still here with me, none of this would be happening. I inhaled deeply of the blankets, feeling Grace all around me. I sat in the rocker, rocking and breathing in Grace’s scent, until I heard the car pull into the garage. Then I dashed to my bedroom and slammed shut the door. I was like a zombie for the next few days. Mother started taking Grace to bed

with her—I suppose so I couldn’t snatch her and run with her. One day, as the ache for Grace became so intense I couldn’t stand it, I tiptoed to her room while she was napping. All I wanted to do was watch her sleep. To my surprise, either my father or my mother had installed a new doorknob with a lock on it. I turned the knob, but it was locked. With a dejected spirit, I shuffled back to my bed and threw myself down on top of it. When Grace’s nap was over and Mother was feeding her lunch, I snuck into my sister’s room to see if I could find the laptop, but it was no use. She either had taken it with her, or my father had hidden it somewhere. For the next week, all I did was sleep. Mother didn’t summon me to meals, and I didn’t offer to go downstairs for them. I only showered when I couldn’t stand the smell of myself. Without Jimmy, and without Grace, I didn’t want to live. That’s when the plan began forming in my mind. If I wanted Grace and me to be a family with Jimmy, then we would have to him in heaven. At first I rejected the plan; I couldn’t do that to Grace—could I? I knew suicide was considered a sin, Lord only knew how many times it had been crammed down my throat, but I also couldn’t imagine God wanting Grace and me to live this way. I searched my Bible for an answer, but all I kept seeing were images of Father as he preached hell and damnation at me, so I put that idea aside. Then too, was the thought of the afterlife. Was there really a hell? If so, and if suicide truly was a sin, is that where Grace and I would end up. Not Grace, I reasoned. She wouldn’t be committing suicide; she would be murdered. Surely that would constitute her ittance into heaven. Then my eyes opened wide as the thought struck me; I would be her murderer. Even if suicide wasn’t a sin, murder definitely was. I made up my mind that Grace and I had to go when, one day I walked by the nursery and heard Father in there with her. I peeked around the corner and saw him sitting in the rocking chair with her on his lap. “Now Grace, we’re going to teach you to be a good girl, not a whore like your mother.” Then he began reading scripture to her, picking out all the ages that told of God’s wrath, and

His punishments for disobedience. I nearly gagged as I flew past the room and ran downstairs, out the door, down the block, and collapsed, exhausted on the park merry go round. As I lay there on my back, spinning myself in a circle, I spoke to Jimmy. “It seems right, Jimmy. But I wonder if you’ll hate me. What about you, God. Is it really a sin to take my own life when I know there’s something better up there?” No answers came to me. I sat up and looked around. As it was a school night, the park was nearly empty. Most of the kids in the neighborhood were probably doing homework or eating with their families. My family had eaten without me. Before I knew what was happening, I was walking toward home, praying as I went for some kind of guidance. Some sign that what I had in mind would ease both my and Grace’s pain. When I arrived home, the house was close to dark, even though it was still early evening. I explored each room, finding each one empty. I looked out the back window, thinking perhaps they might be spending the evening on the patio. It was empty. Next I walked upstairs. I saw no light under my sister’s door and ed hearing some talk of a retreat where she would go into seclusion and cleanse herself of evil thoughts. I turned and wandered toward the master bedroom. I could hear my parents whispering. The door was slightly ajar, so I could hear some of what they were saying. I heard my mother’s whispered, “She’s getting more difficult by the day.” Then my father’s, “We tried to send her away once before.” Then Mother, “Yes, but that was a bribe. Now that she has signed the adoption papers, well…” Father, “She doesn’t have a choice.” Mother, “What about your mother?” Father, “She doesn’t want her around full-time. She’s too busy travelling.” Mother, “It’s not as if she’s a kid anymore. She’s almost ready for college.”

I didn’t wait around to hear anymore. It was plain they were trying to get rid me. Well, I decided, if that is what they wanted, then that is what they’d get. Only wouldn’t they be surprised when they realized Grace was going with me. I tiptoed to the nursery. I turned the knob, expecting it to be locked. I was surprised when it turned easily. Grace was lying in her crib, sleeping. Thankfully, she was a sound sleeper. I lifted her from the crib, grabbed the everready diaper bag, and stealthily made my way down the stairs. I lifted Father’s car keys from the hook by the door and left as quietly as I had entered. A quarter mile down the road, I pulled over, trying to get a bearing on where I was going. Truthfully, I didn’t know where to go. My “friends” had all turned their backs on me—even Jennifer. Jimmy was dead and plainly his parents weren’t equipped to deal with my problems. My church was such a joke that I even let out a little giggle. I pulled away from the curb and began driving aimlessly through the streets. I drove past the drive-in theater, which was almost always empty because it was so foggy all the time. Then I ed the chicken place, the Ice Cream Palace where I knew Mr. Pinkerton would be readying the day’s receipts for deposit to the bank. I briefly thought of approaching him for help, but he was old and contemplating retirement. He didn’t need a teenager and her baggage bogging him down. I drove on, taking solace in the fact that at least one person would miss me when I was gone. At the corner of First Street and Oak Tree trails, I encountered another group of kids hanging out. My father would call them a useless drain on our air supply. To me, they looked like a bunch of teenagers having fun. One of the boys reached out and pulled one of the girls toward him. She giggled, played coy, but eventually succumbed, leaning into his kiss. I couldn’t hear what the other kids said, but they were all laughing and pointing at the couple. The couple, in response to their comrades bantering, intensified their level of kissing to the point of embarrassment. I moved on, longing even more for Jimmy. I had never heard of New Hope Church before, which is why I was so astonished when I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. From the parking lot, I could barely make out movement inside. I saw only one car in the parking lot and wondered to whom it belonged—some elderly

secretary perhaps? From the moment you answered the phone, I felt relief wash over me. Your voice—soothing, yet firm—held promise for me. I intended to kill myself, and my baby, until I heard your voice. That is when I started to second-guess myself.

Chapter Fifteen

David

I felt my breath catch in my throat. As many teens as I had counseled, I had never come this close to actually saving a life. Abby’s story was tragic, and it angered me even to think about a parent being so vindictive and unforgiving. The Bible spoke of love, understanding, and tolerance, just as much as it talked of evil, sin, obedience, and discipline. I wondered where Mr. and Mrs. Stein had been during those lessons. Betty was smiling encouragingly at me. She bit her thumbnail, as was her habit when really excited about something. I nodded at her, willing her to understand the depth of the love I felt for her and our unborn child. Dan wiped a tear from his eye and looked on the verge of crying. Ms. Brighton was busy putting a plan of action into writing, and she was working like crazy. I smiled when I thought of a conversation I’d had with another pastor a few days previous, in which he had commented on how uncaring the social services system was in our community. If there is any truth to the statement, Ms. Brighton clearly is the exception. I heard the door open and turned to see Minerva flying through it, her short semi-gray hair standing at attention. Clearly, her fingers had found their way through the mess. Minerva wore a grin two times the size of a Cheshire cat. She nearly danced on the tip of her toes in brazen excitement. She waved her hands excitedly, indicating behind her. She stepped aside and revealed a middle-age man and woman. I knew immediately these had to be Jimmy’s parents. “Bless you, Minerva,” I mouthed. I turned my attention to the phone, comfortable enough by now to believe Abby was past the point of suicidal crisis. “Abby,” I began, “I hope you won’t be angry with me, but I’m not alone here.” She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “I kind of guessed that a long time ago.”

“There’s someone here I think you should talk to,” I said. “Will you come inside?” She didn’t say anything, but she hung up the phone. I looked out the window, waiting for some sign of her. I held my breath, and when at first she didn’t emerge, I began to worry whether I had done the right thing. Had I guessed wrong? Then I saw the car door open and relief flooded over me. She lifted the diaper bag from the car, and then Grace. I saw her struggling to the office. I ran outside to meet her, praying no one would follow. We met halfway there. Tears, pooling in her eyes, glistened in the moonlight, making my own eyes water. “Pastor David?” she asked. I smiled. “Abby.” Then she was in my arms and sobbing on my shoulder. I held her for several moments, until Grace started squirming between us and strongly protested the bear hug in which we had her trapped. Abby laughed nervously. “This is Grace,” she said, holding her out for me to take. I looked at the baby, and my heart leapt with joy at the sight of her. Her dark features were beautiful and radiant. I welcomed the infant in my arms—grateful it had worked out this way—instead of the grimmer option. I shifted Grace to one side and put my other arm around Abby’s shoulder. I led them both inside. The pandemonium I expected didn’t happen. In my absence, someone had assembled a receiving line. This was most likely Betty’s doing. Minerva started the line. When Abby stood in front of her she threw her arms around her and said, “God bless you child.” Abby smiled at her, timidly tipping her head downward. “Don’t be scared, honey. God loves you, and so do we.” Abby moved down the line, shyly greeting each of the congregants that had gathered over the course of the meeting.

I watched in utter fascination as I witnessed the transformation of my little flock from the vultures of the previous evening, to the crusaders of this night. At last, she came to Mr. and Mrs. Martinez. I took a deep breath, wondering how she would handle the emotions of presenting her daughter to her paternal grandparents. Mrs. Martinez opened her arms. Abby flew into them, nearly flooding the poor woman’s blouse with her shed tears. “I’m so sorry, dear,” Mrs. Martinez was saying. She tipped her chin to look into her eyes. “You should not have had to go through this on your own.” “I wanted to tell you,” Abby blabbered, “but I didn’t want to add to your grief.” The woman looked purely confused. “What grief?” she said. “Grandbabies are a gift from God. There is no grief there, regardless of the circumstance of how they arrive.” “I just thought that after Jimmy’s death, you didn’t need another shock.” Mrs. Martinez took on a shocked expression. She looked quickly at Mr. Martinez, who shook his head. Then she looked back at Abby. “Who told you Jimmy was dead?” My mouth gaped open. I looked at Minerva, who displayed a satisfied grin. Abby was at a loss for words. She stammered and stuttered until she finally managed to squeak out, “My parents told me. When he didn’t come, I assumed they were telling the truth.” She narrowed her eyes. Hope danced on the surface of her expression. “Are you telling me he’s not dead?” Mr. Martinez said, “Our Jimmy suffered terribly in the accident. He was in the hospital for weeks before he regained consciousness. However, he is very much alive.” Abby gasped. “Where is he then?” “He’s in a rehabilitative hospital in Arizona,” Mrs. Martinez said. “He asked me to call you and let you know, but when I did, your mother told me you were on a sabbatical with your grandmother.”

“Jimmy never mentioned the baby?” Abby asked. “No,” Mrs. Martinez said. She shook her head slowly. “He must have thought I went through with the adoption.” Mr. Martinez said, “Jimmy’s been depressed over losing you. He’s not listening to anything the doctors say. All he ever does is cry for you.” Abby grinned, turned to me and plucked Grace from my arms. “Did you hear that Grace? Daddy’s alive.” She swung her around in a circle. Grace Squealed and cooed, making everyone laugh. Mrs. Martinez tentatively held out her arms. “May I hold her?” Abby nearly threw Grace into her grandmother’s arms. Tears spilled down the trio’s faces as they hugged like an old, happy family. For a moment, I was afraid to hope this might all turn out okay, but then hadn’t we experienced a true miracle that evening? I pulled aside Ms. Brighton. “What happens now?” She nodded at the group. “If Mr. and Mrs. Martinez are willing to take Grace and Abby home with them, I’ll allow that and file papers first thing in the morning for temporary guardianship. Abby is almost an adult, so I’m sure there won’t be a problem with emancipating her if need be.” Betty came up beside me. “If they don’t take them, we will,” she said. I put an arm around her, smiling down into her face. Ms. Brighton nodded. “Whatever happens, Grace and Abby won’t be returning to that house.” “What about the adoption papers?” I asked. Abby must have overheard me because she stepped into the circle. “I signed them,” she said. I would say the force of her despair drew her frown to the ground. I could see her start to shake.

Ms. Brighton shook her head. “They bullied you into g them,” she said. “The judge will revoke it. I’m sure of it.” “What about Grace?” Abby asked. “May we take her home with us?” Mrs. Martinez asked. Abby stiffened. Mrs. Martinez touched Abby’s shoulder. “Abby too,” she added quickly. Abby relaxed. “Is that okay with you, Abby?” Ms. Brighton asked. Abby took a deep breath, looked among the entire group, and then settled her eyes on me. I nodded encouragement. “It’s a true blessing,” I said. Abby slowly nodded her head. The group began to disperse, starting with the Martinez family and Abby. I heard mutterings of congratulations as they made their way out the door. Abby exclaimed excitedly that she couldn’t wait to see Jimmy, and wouldn’t he be surprised to find he has a daughter. When the last of the group was out the door and on the way to their cars, I pulled Betty against me. She laid her head on my shoulder, her round belly between us. I held her for a long time, not willing to let go of the perfect peace the hug brought. Our son kicked like mad inside his mother’s womb. I treasured the feeling against my own belly. When the force of our son’s kicks drove us a part, Betty said, “How can anyone treat their own child like that?” She sniffed back a sob. “Shh,” I said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “Let’s not bring that into this.” She quieted, burrowing closer to me. She whispered, “You did a good thing here today.” Then she laid her head on my shoulder, and we stayed that way for a while. I didn’t want her to step away. I didn’t want to let any ugliness into something so perfect.

Epilogue

Abby

It’s safe to say my parents were more than angry when they discovered I had taken Grace. They called the police, but they told them to wait awhile and see if I returned on my own. Father was furious when he found out I wasn’t returning home. Social services made insinuations about removing Gabby as well, so Father calmed himself, fading into the background. Mother, defying Father, visits me occasionally at the Ice Cream Palace. She’s trying, but I don’t think our relationship will ever be normal. She hasn’t seen Grace since the incident; I prefer it that way, for now. Mr. and Mrs. Martinez have been truly magnificent to Grace and me. Mrs. Martinez watches Grace while I’m working, and at school, but once I get home —she is clearly my baby. I think having Grace around eases her longing for Jimmy. Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, Grace, and I all made a trip to Arizona to surprise Jimmy. Boy was he ever surprised when I walked into his hospital room with Grace in my arms. The doctors say it has made a tremendous impact on his recovery. They said that if he continues to progress at the rate he is, he’ll be home in time for Easter. Mrs. Martinez thinks Easter would be a great time for a wedding. She said, “The Lord forgives mistakes, but that doesn’t excuse you from transgressing further.” I roll my eyes and smile every time I think of this. I can’t think of anything I would like more than marrying Jimmy. Grace and I have been to see him on several occasions. We can’t travel too often because of my job, but we talk on the phone every day. Jimmy wanted me to come to Arizona and get married right away, but I want Pastor David to perform the ceremony, and he can’t do that in Arizona. Besides, I can’t imagine getting married without the of my new church family. Jimmy and I have it all worked out. Jimmy will concentrate on getting well, while I finish my last year of high school.

At Mrs. Martinez’s insistence, I returned to school. I’m trying to make the best of my senior year. I was reluctant at first, but now I’m glad I did. Somehow, the story got around and suddenly I’m a celebrity. Now, thankfully, my friends are all talking to me again. We’ll never be as close as we once were, though—not even Jennifer and me. That saddens me a little, but I guess that’s what happens when you grow up; our worlds are just too different now. I have some new friends now—ones who like to talk about baby formula, dirty diapers, and how to hold onto a shred of sanity, while still being a good mother. Even Katrina put aside her airs—if only for a moment— and gathered around for whatever information on Jimmy that I was willing to spew. Next year, Jimmy and I will start college together. We’ve decided to stay on this side of the map. I don’t know about my mother, but Mrs. Martinez clearly was grateful that Grace wouldn’t be that far away. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of her, which is okay with me. Much to my sorrow, Jimmy surrendered his basketball scholarship in favor of “better things” as he says. I only hope he doesn’t regret it. As Ms. Brighton promised, the judge revoked the adoption papers and returned full legal custody of Grace to me. I wanted to change Grace’s name to Katherine, but Jimmy said he likes Grace better—so we changed her middle name to Katherine, and her last name to Martinez. That suited me fine. I can’t wait to get rid of the name Stein myself. My sister remains at home with our parents. As I mentioned previously, Ms. Brighton tried to make waves about it, but Father held firm, protesting his right to practice religious freedom, however he chooses. I daresay I disagree, but David said Father is correct, and that as long as they don’t break any laws, or harm Gabby—we can’t interfere. Gabby and I are working on mending our relationship. She was, after all—for a short time my savior. I’m trying to convince her to come to church with me, but I have to sigh here because I know Father would never permit it. Well, that’s my story. I owe a debt of gratitude to Pastor David Owens and all the wonderful people at New Hope Christian church. They taught me to love, to believe, and showed me that God loves me, no matter what I have done.

David

I stood at the pulpit one Sunday morning, looking out over this group of people with which I’ve been entrusted. A lot has changed in the five months since I received that call from Abby. For one thing, little Grace has captured the hearts of nearly every parishioner in the church. Abby looks so good that I hardly believe she was on death’s door just a few months ago. I watch her smile at Jimmy and my heart melts. It’s only two weeks until the wedding, and I can’t wait. Mostly to get Mrs. Martinez off my back. I laugh because I’m only kidding, but honestly the woman is relentless. The planning of this wedding has been the single largest event in the church’s history. The only ones not planning it are Abby and Jimmy; they’re too busy making plans for the future, and seeing that Jimmy is well enough to stand at the altar to receive his bride. Both the kids have been accepted to Portland University next term, which is only a couple of short hours away. I’m thankful for that because at least we’ll still get to see them often, and I know how much Betty loves shopping trips in the city. Ms. Brighton has been a gem at helping the kids get things set in place. She even managed to arrange for family housing and daycare on campus for Grace, so Abby won’t have to worry about her while she attends classes. I thank God I broke protocol that night and called for help. I guess some rules are meant to be broken. What’s really odd about that night is the amount of lives that single phone call changed. Take Minerva for instance. She was a bitter, complaining woman who had to have her say about everything. She fought anyone who got in her way about how to spend the church’s money and refused to see anybody else’s point of view. Since the night that she helped save a mother and her child, Minerva seems to have a new look on life. Oh, don’t get me wrong, she’s still bossy—but she’s put her bossiness to good use. The endowment fund, which could not be used for daily operating expenses, is going to rebuild the youth center and the parking lot—thanks to the generous donations Minerva extorted from local businesses to help her build the New Hope School for Unwed Mothers. The project, Minerva’s new focus, will house twenty young mothers and babies while

they finish high school. The construction of the school has helped build community awareness, consequently growing our congregation. Our growth, combined with the donations from the businesses to help fund the operating costs of the school, will slightly ease the general fund. At last night’s budget meeting, our treasurer happily reported a balanced budget for the first time in five years. I tried meeting with the Stein family to see if I could bridge the damage Grace’s birth has caused in their household. Mr. Stein called me a false prophet and would have slammed the door in my face if Mrs. Stein hadn’t stopped him. It’s apparent to me she loves her daughter but feels an obligation to obey her husband more. Perhaps the loss of her daughter and grandchild will help her see the truth—or maybe not. I have learned that I need to understand that the pull to interpret the Bible to suit one’s own needs is strong—even if the faith is a bit twisted. I look down at my beautiful wife, with our infant son in her arms, and with the two little girls seated on either side of her, and smile. Betty, awakened by the urgent need to help Abby and Grace, opened our home to foster parenting. Our first two guests were twin girls, Anita and Mandy, whose mother is battling drug addiction, but to use Betty’s words, “is trying to get better.” Life is on track again. I feel honored, and ashamedly just a little boastful, that I managed to save a life—with God’s help, of course. I can’t wait to see what challenge He will throw at me next time.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to acknowledge Jessica Morrison for her valuable input in the writing of this novel. I also would like to thank all my pre-readers who help make this novel the best it can be

Thank you for purchasing this book.

Visit the author’s website where you can discover other great books by the author, read reviews, and sample audio version and book trailers: www.victoriaschwimley.com

Books in print by the author

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In the victim’s shadow

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Coveting Love

Confronting Truths

FAITH SERIES

Capturing Faith

Twisted Faith

FOR THE YOUNG ONES

Crime Solver’s Detective Agency

Grand Theft: Crime Solver’s Detective Agency Book Two

Audiobooks

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Crime Solver’s Detective Agency

Grand Theft: Crime Solver’s Detective Agency Book Two