by Alana Terry
I’m not used to this kind of strain.
I don’t know why this demon from my past is trying to escape now of all times when things have been going so well. I feel like I should do something. Pray against it. Fight it. But how? It’s like trying to stop a tidal wave and all you’ve got is a trash can full of shredded paper.
I bite my lip and jump online. There must be someone I can stalk, someone who can get my mind off this demon. If I ignore it completely, it’s bound to go away eventually, right? Like the stray cat you refuse to feed, no matter how persistently he cries at your front door.
A distraction. That’s what I need.
I don’t recognize the profile picture at first glance. Elder Thomas? What in the world is he doing on my news feed? Then I see that Sandy’s replied to something he wrote, and since the internet’s semi-omniscient, it assumes I want to see it, too.
It’s some pro-life meme. Anti-baby-killer meme, I should say. At least it’s not one of the ones that shows the dismembered fetus, but it’s not much better.
And all of a sudden I’m not sitting on the couch looking for something to slow my racing brain. I’m not in my trailer waiting for Natalie’s next feeding time.
I’m five months pregnant, I’ve driven all the way to the Spokane Women’s Clinic, and I’m about to kill my baby.
CHAPTER 42
“Have you had an abortion before?” the nurse asks me.
“No.” I’m shaking. I shouldn’t be shaking. This is a safe procedure. Everything I’ve read online promises me that it’s safe. And I’m not alone. Something like twenty or thirty percent of all women in America have done what I’m about to do.
It’s no big deal. Like getting a tooth pulled. Uncomfortable for a short time, but then the problem’s taken care of for good.
I shouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten into that big fight with Jake.
He’ll never forgive me after this.
“Are you ready?” the nurse asks.
I nod my head and sign the form she’s holding on her pink clipboard.
It’s silly for me to be thinking about my foster mom. Not at a time like this. I haven’t talked to Sandy in years. Haven’t thought about her in years. So why am I so worried all of a sudden about what she’d say?
I could always change my mind. I already signed the form, but what’s the nurse going to do? Strap me into the stirrups and force me to go through with it?
I could get up and walk out right now. If I weren’t so stinking mad at Jake, that’s exactly what I’d do.
“All right,” the nurse tells me before she bustles out of the room, “all I need you to do is hop into this gown, and I’ll be back in a few minutes to check up on you.”
My relationship with Jake is never going to recover from this.
And that’s the only reason why I’m here.
CHAPTER 43
The nurse said a few minutes, but I guess she meant fifteen or more. I’m tired. I drove all the way to Spokane, and I haven’t even had coffee today. I’ve been trying to cut back on caffeine because I read online that it’s healthier for the baby.
There’s some irony for you.
Jake’s texted me about fifty times. Wants to know where I am. Why I stormed off like that. When I’ll come home. Reminds me he’s working tonight and has to have the car back by six. I don’t reply.
He can ride his bike.
I’m proud of myself that I made this decision. I should have done it months ago. It would be infinitely easier for everyone involved if I had. But I wanted to pretend it would all work out, that Jake and I could learn to be that little picture-perfect family.
Who was I kidding?
I just wish I’d done it before we got that ultrasound. Before I learned it was a she. That makes it harder. That and the fact that I’ve already felt her kicking around some.
On the drive out here, I passed a car with an Abortion is Murder bumper sticker on it. Made me wonder for a minute if it was a sign. It was right by an exit, too, so I could have gotten off the freeway if I wanted. Turned around and gone home.
Then when I got to Spokane, I passed this church with a billboard in front. Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. It was some Bible verse, and there was a picture of a cute little Gerber baby with squishy cheeks and triple elbows and huge stinking dimples when she smiled at all the passers-by. The sign had the address for some kind of pregnancy center offering abortion alternatives. I know what that means, and no, I’m not giving my baby up for adoption, thank you very much.
Once my mind is set, nothing changes it. Not even a message splattered across the sky. That’s why I hope the nurse comes back soon. I want to get this taken care of and move on.
I still don’t know what I’ll tell Jake. He loves this baby already. It’s embarrassing the way that a grown man humiliates himself singing songs and making goofy faces at my belly.
He’ll be crushed, but he’ll get over it.
He’ll have to.
CHAPTER 44
I’m drifting off to sleep. Seriously. I thought this would be a quick in-and-out procedure, but I guess it’s far enough along it’s going to be a little more complicated than that.
I knew I should have come here sooner.
The nurse has been in and out, in and out, and now I’m waiting again. Waiting for those silly sticks she shoved up in me to do their work. It’s been such a stressful day, first that fight with Jake, then the drive all the way out to Spokane. I don’t know if I even have enough gas money to make it back to Orchard Grove. If Jake didn’t need his stupid car back, I might stay here for good.
In the bathroom at the clinic was a number for a shelter for battered women. Even have a free shuttle that will come pick me up. Jake’s never hit me, but they’re not going to turn me away just because I’m not bruised up enough.
Even a woman’s shelter would beat that stupid trailer park.
I forget how long the nurse said I had to wait before we could go on with the procedure. I’m just so tired and stressed out. Why in the world did I think it would be a good idea to give up coffee?
I’ve got to rest my eyes. I won’t fall asleep or anything. I just need to give my brain a break. Slow down. Unwind.
I’ve been living the past five months for someone else. It’s time to take care of me for a change.
CHAPTER 45
I’m in some big room I’ve never seen before. Almost like a ballroom. Tons of open space.
It’s depressing here. Lots of black and gray, with just a tiny ray of light streaming in from the far window. If this were a movie, I’d say the director was trying too hard to be dramatic.
There’s no one here. It’s totally empty except for me. There’s something up front on a little platform. Maybe this isn’t a ballroom. It reminds me more of a church or something but without the pews or places for people to sit. And there’s no podium for the preacher to stand behind, just a wooden box. Like they’re getting ready to do a Christmas pageant but the only prop they’ve built so far is the manger for baby Jesus.
That’s what it is. A manger. I go up to it. I think I hear a sound coming from the stage. My footsteps are slow. It’s like I have to wade through four feet of Jell-O. It takes me forever to get to the front of the room, but I’m finally there.
And then I realize I’m not alone. There’s some old woman who just appeared out of nowhere. Is this part of the Christmas pageant? Is she supposed to be some sort of angel?
She’s bending over the manger, and she’s got her hand on a baby. I think maybe she’s singing a lullaby. I get closer and can see that the baby’s a girl. And the old woman’s not singing, she’s praying.
Except it’s not quite a prayer, either, because she’s not talking directly to the Lord. She’s talking to the baby. You’re a blessed child, a living miracle. Your life is evidence of the power of the great God Almighty.
I glance down the at the baby. So little. So helpless. Chocolate skin an
d almond eyes. And then she smiles at me. She’s gorgeous.
So stinking gorgeous.
And then the old woman meets my gaze. I’m expecting this gentle granny type, but her whole expression flashes with anger and power. Like that elf chick in Lord of the Rings who gets tempted to steal the ring from Frodo and starts talking in that super creepy voice.
That’s what the old lady sounds like when she looks me square in the eyes and tells me, “What God has ordained, let no mortal dare terminate.”
My heart’s literally stopped in my chest. I’m covered in sweat, and I’m breathing as fast as if I’d just spent ten minutes in a boxing ring with Patricia.
I’m not in the women’s clinic anymore. I’m not in Spokane. I’m in my living room. Jake’s glancing up at me from his phone.
I haven’t thought about that dream in months. I have no idea why it stole its way into my head now of all times.
But my hands turn cold, and my whole stomach twists itself into a giant pretzel and tries to squeeze my abdominal cavity into its iron grip.
I’ve tried my hardest to forget Spokane. Forget about what I almost did that day to my daughter. But now I know why that Grandma Lucy lady at church looked so stinking familiar.
She’s the woman from my dream.
CHAPTER 46
Jake’s looking at me like I’m batty. Who knows, maybe I am.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I wonder if I made a noise in my surprise without even knowing it.
Grandma Lucy. Is my mind playing tricks on me? I’ve gone so long avoiding all my memories from that women’s clinic. Is that why the Holy Ghost lady at church looked so familiar, or am I just confused? Traumatized?
That’s a thing, you know. Post abortion stress disorder. It’s like PTSD, but for women who have abortions. I looked it up once online.
“You’re kind of tripping me out,” Jake says.
I try to shake reality back into my body and brain. I’m not in Spokane. A flashback. That’s all this was. Maybe I do have that post-abortion thing even though I didn’t go through with the procedure.
After I dozed off and had that dream in the women’s clinic, I told the nurse I had to get something from the car. She looked a little suspicious, so I said it was my inhaler. I don’t have asthma, but I lived with this foster kid once who did. Eliot Jamison. I’ve had tons of foster siblings, but he’s one of the only ones I remember in any sort of detail. Maybe because I teased him so bad. Anyway, I got dressed, and the nurse said she’d walk me to the car, but I told her I could go myself.
I think she still suspected something, either that or she didn’t want the clinic to get sued, because she followed me out anyway.
I should have just told her. Let her know I changed my mind, but she’d already prepped me for the procedure by then, and I was afraid she’d say it was too late.
So she trailed me to Jake’s car, and I had to make it look convincing that I was digging around for some imaginary inhaler, and then when I was all the way inside where she couldn’t get to me, I shut the door and locked myself in.
She knocked on the window, more scared than angry, and you could tell she was worried about getting fired or something. But I was done with the women’s clinic, and I wasn’t ever going to look back.
I never do.
Five minutes later, I was in a gas station bathroom, pulling out those dilator thingies. I was sure by now the people at the clinic were going nuts, but I hadn’t used my real name on the intake form or given them anything but a made-up phone number and address. There was no way they were going to see or hear anything from me again.
I flushed those little cinnamon-looking sticks down the toilet, prayed to God it wouldn’t clog, and jumped back in the car.
I was going back to Orchard Grove. Back to the father of my baby.
CHAPTER 47
Jake’s probably at home worrying about me right now, but I can’t help that. He’s always going to worry about me. Said so the day we got married.
I left the trailer in a kind of a whirlwind. Told him I had to go to the store to buy some tampons. It was the only excuse I could think of. Instead of heading to Walmart, though, I drove three miles in the opposite direction, where I’ve been parked for the past ten minutes, trying to work up the nerve to walk up to the door.
There’s no use asking what I’m doing here. Have you ever felt so compelled to do something you couldn’t even explain it to yourself? Maybe that’s why the salmon always travel up those streams to spawn. They probably don’t have a clue why they’re doing it. They just know that if they don’t, something inside them will break or they’ll die a terrifying, violent death.
I’m staring at the sign of Orchard Grove Bible Church. It’s got one of those changeable message boards where preachers can put little wisecracks. This one says Honk if you love Jesus. Text while you drive if you want to meet him. I wonder if it was the pastor who came up with it or someone else.
I feel like the biggest idiot in the history of the world. I don’t even know what I’m going to say once I go in. But I feel even more stupid sitting out here in the parking lot, so I finally get out of the car and head up the walkway. The church has two entrances. I wonder if I’m supposed to use the big one that leads straight to the sanctuary or if they want you to use the side door on weekdays. Does it matter?
I try the smaller door, but it’s locked. So is the main one. Great. There’s not any way for me to get in. I’m about to go to the car and run to Walmart since there’s absolutely nothing else for me to do here when a man comes out of the little house beside the church.
“Can I help you?”
It takes me a few seconds to recognize him without the fancy shirt and tie. He’s in athletic pants, the kind that swish when you walk, and an LA Lakers hoodie.
LA Lakers? Does he know what decade we’re in?
I’m so startled to see him like this, I don’t know what to say. I’m about to stammer something about forgetting my Bible here on Sunday when he comes towards me and stretches out his hand.
“I’m Greg. Is there something I can do for you?”
I’m staring at the ground. The pastor’s wearing faded faux leather slippers in the snow.
I take his hand, feeling a swoosh in my stomach like I haven’t experienced since the first few months of the pregnancy.
“I was actually looking for somebody.” My face is hot. I remind myself to be assertive. There’s nothing in this world more annoying than a mousy woman. I square my shoulders. “That old lady who spoke after the sermon. Your, umm, your grandma. I mean, your grandmother-in-law. Is she ... Does she happen to live here with you?”
The pastor squints his eyes at me. I’m almost certain he’s got some Native American heritage, but there’s a small chance it’s Hispanic. Or maybe a little of both.
“Grandma Lucy?” he asks.
I nod my head, trying to convince myself that he probably has two or three people a month show up in front of his house wanting to know the same thing.
“She’s not actually a relative,” he explains. “That’s just what people in the church call her. She lives down on Baxter Loop. The big farmhouse there with all the goats running around.”
Goats? I don’t know what part of town he means, but I guess that’s what GPS is for.
He tilts his head to the side.
“Did you need her for something?”
I force myself to laugh. “Oh, nothing serious. It was just that, well, she said something I’ve been meaning to talk to her about.”
He nods his head. Maybe he does get regular visitors stopping here asking about her.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say.
“It’s really no trouble. I’ve got to salt this walkway anyway.”
I wonder if he’s going to change into winter boots first. Or at least shoes that are designed for outdoors.
“Be careful not to slip,” he tells me as I make my way back to the car.
Safe in
side Jake’s Pontiac, I open up Google Maps.
I’ve got to find this Baxter Loop.
CHAPTER 48
The farm the pastor mentioned is impossible to miss. As soon as I turn onto Baxter Loop, I see the signs leading the way.
Safe Anchorage Goat Farm. 2 miles.
Raw goat milk, cheeses, and soaps. 1.3 miles.
Please drive slowly. Goats ahead.
I think this last sign’s a joke until I literally have to brake for three goats stripping bark from a tree on the side of the road. I follow about half a dozen colorfully-painted arrows up a winding driveway until I stop in front of a bright red farmhouse. I feel like I’ve jumped back in time at least sixty or seventy years.
A middle-aged woman in one of those old-fashioned aprons — I think you call that pattern calico even though I’ve never been a hundred percent sure what calico actually means — stands on the porch and waves at me.
“Welcome to Safe Anchorage!” she calls out as soon as I step out of the Pontiac. “Are you here for milk, cheese, or to meet the animals?”
It’s been a couple months since I’ve talked to two strangers in a single day. I glance around, half expecting Grandma Lucy to appear like a phantom at my elbow. “I’m here looking for someone.” At least now my voice is competent. I don’t even want to know what that LA Lakers fan boy pastor thinks about me after that show I gave him. “Is this where Lucy lives?”
The woman’s smile broadens, a feat I wouldn’t have imagined possible.
“Of course. Come right in. Grandma Lucy will be delighted you stopped by.”
I know for sure this woman’s too old to be anyone’s granddaughter but for lack of better alternatives, I follow Calico Lady through the swinging double doors of the farmhouse entrance. Some bells tied to the knob chatter merrily as we enter.