by Lily Foster
“Ginger ale is in the fridge, I’ll get you some crackers.” Handing me the crackers and gesturing with her head, she says, “Head on out to the deck and try to eat a little bit. I’m a caffeine junkie, can’t start my day without it. I imagine the smell will turn your stomach right now, though.”
When we arrived last night it was dark and I was shell-shocked, so this is the first time I take notice of my surroundings. Janelle’s small kitchen is all knotted pine with homey accents. I notice a glass-domed cake plate with scones on it, plaid curtains that match the cushions on the chairs, around a dozen cookbooks lined up neatly on a shelf, and a sign hanging above the window that reads: Lord, give me COFFEE for the things I can change, and WINE for the things I cannot. But nothing could prepare me for what I see when I approach the screen door. Stepping outside, my eyes go wide as I take in the expanse of water. The sun is dancing off the small ripples formed by a passing rowboat, and the man in the boat pauses his rowing for a moment to wave to me. I wave back on instinct then retreat from the railing, flopping into a deck chair. The beauty of this place leaves me awestruck, my upset stomach forgotten.
“I take it you like the water?” Janelle asks, a chuckle escaping as she takes in my expression.
“I-I guess so.”
“Lake Superior,” she says as she settles into the chair next to mine, sipping on her coffee. A few moments later she says, “Do you know I haven’t heard from your father in nearly ten years?” I steal a quick look her way, unsure of whether the question is meant to be rhetorical or not. “Then I get a call from him two days ago, telling me you’re coming to stay with me, not asking me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. That brother of yours looks like him…Acts just like him too.” Janelle looks out over the lake again. “So, what are we going to do about this?” She continues like she’s not expecting any input from me. “Your daddy instructed me to take you somewhere and get this taken care of. I assume he was suggesting an abortion. Not man enough to say the word, I guess.” She raises her cup and blows on the drink to cool it. “Is that what you want?”
“No! I mean…I don’t know.”
“We’ll have a hell of a time finding a provider up here if that’s what you decide to do.” I rub at my eyes, feeling so very alone in all this. “Let’s leave the decisions for later,” she says, shaking her head. “First things first. We’re taking a ride into town later so we can get you registered for school.”
“I’m going to school here?”
“Did you even speak to your daddy before you got in that car yesterday?”
“No.”
I hear her mutter the word asshole under her breath. “Yes, for the foreseeable future, you’re here with me. He’s not taking you back in. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but he can be harsh like that.” She reaches over tentatively and pats my hand. “It’s not so bad here, Charlotte. I promise. Just like you, I landed here a long time ago when I needed to escape. I’ve made this place my home.”
I haven’t been touched by another person since Simon up and left me. I wasn’t comfortable in my new surroundings, and she was still little more than a stranger, but I appreciated Janelle’s small gesture of kindness more than she could ever know.
“A beautiful girl, new in town. Dis’ll give ‘em sometheen to talk ah-boat.”
It takes me a moment to understand what the waitress is saying. Unlike my aunt, the waitress and the school secretary we encountered have an unusual way of speaking. After the woman I now know as Carol Ann takes our order, I catch my aunt smiling at me.
“I’d say about a quarter of the townspeople speak like that, more so the farther away from the coast you venture. A lot of the early settlers up here were Scandinavian. They call it Yoopanese. This and them are pronounced dis and dem, nothing is noth-een, and about is, yes, ah-boat.”
“I’ll get used to it,” I offer, trying my best to be a good guest. Let’s face it, I have nowhere else to go. I go to reach into my back pocket for my phone and realize, for the third time today, that I no longer have a means to access the outside world.
She blows on a spoonful of chili. “Reception is spotty up here anyway.”
I make a mental list. First order of business is to get my hands on a computer. “Is there a library in town?”
“Powell shares a library with Ishpeming. You have your license yet?”
“Yes, but—”
“Best way to learn is by doing.” She looks to me after gesturing for a refill on her coffee. “Let’s take a tour around town, see the sights, and then we’ll drive the route between my house and school. I imagine you won’t want to be riding the bus once you start to show. I mean, if you to start to show.” Gulping down my shame, I nod. “I work from home most days so you can take my truck. When I need to be somewhere, I’ll drop you off at school.”
“Thank you, Aunt Janelle. I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
And the way she says it, I start to believe that maybe it is.
I take the “sights” in again as I make my way to and from school the following Monday. Powell is a one stoplight kind of town. There’s basically a diner, a general store, volunteer fire department, post office, sheriff’s office and a sad excuse for a gift shop.
My first day of school wasn’t entirely awful, even though each and every teacher felt the need to introduce me at the start of class. Halfway through the day, after breezing through trig, history and chem, I was confident I’d happened upon a school system less challenging than my own. By the time I sat down at a deserted table in the cafeteria with a well-worn copy of Jane Eyre to keep me company, I was digging this new state of anonymity and starting to believe the affirmation I’d been repeating since sometime in late August: I’m going to be okay.
No one approached me. Not that first day or in the days that followed. My wardrobe earned me a few envious side glances from the girls and a few lingering looks from the boys, but for the most part no one seemed to give a flip about the new girl. Ah-boat the new girl, I should say. God, the accent took some getting used to, and every time someone ended a question with yah? or eh? I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. I didn’t really mind, though. The accent gave me the giggles, and I was sorely in need of amusement. And I liked listening in on their conversations, observing the body language, watching the way the kids interacted with one another. I was comfortable in my role as an outsider.
The time alone gives me time to think. I sit in the library, settling into a corner so that no one can walk up behind me and get a glimpse of the flow chart I’m drawing. My three choices are written as headings: Terminate, Adoption, Keep Baby.
Under Terminate, the pen shakes in my hand when I write: Have to do it this week. I am now dangerously close to the ten-week mark that’s considered the cut-off for the non-invasive pill option. Just swallow a little pill—simple, clean and easy. It’s obviously what Simon would have wanted me to do. He’d be none the wiser and I could go on with my life. Hopefully I could stay on here and get my high school diploma in this newfound state of obscurity. I could study my ass off for the college entrance exams and get a scholarship. Then I could head anywhere. I could head south to Florida or west to California. Hey, I could even plant my ass at Northwestern the September after next. Suddenly filled with rage, I picture myself standing tall, squaring my shoulders and spitting on Simon Wade as I pass by him on the quad.
My feelings are all over the map when it comes to him. I’m obviously not rocking a loving or conciliatory vibe at the moment.
When I move onto the Adoption heading, my thoughts go to Miss Dawson. A decade. She has a ten-year-old daughter out there somewhere. I write: Find a nice family. When I conjure up an image of my prospective parents, Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds come to mind. I aim high. They’re a golden young couple, well-dressed, and they obviously have the means to provide a ch
ild with every advantage. A lump forms in my throat when I envision their tears of joy as they look down in wonder at the precious bundle they cradle together. The scene unfolds with me snatching my baby back from them and running down the hospital corridor in the opposite direction. Ugh.
I go to town under Keep Baby. First order of business: Get GED in January. I’ll be turning seventeen then. Ask Janelle if she’ll let us stay. The two of us have fallen into a comfortable routine, but I really don’t know how she’d feel about housing both me and a baby for the foreseeable future. Get a job. See about online college courses. I keep adding items. Buy crib, baby clothes, diapers. I still have twelve hundred dollars stashed away, and I’m proud knowing I can cover some of the basics on my own. This list is daunting, though. Apply for medical insurance. As I jot question marks next to food stamps and welfare benefits, I remember about the small investment accounts my mom insisted on opening for me and my brother with money from our Baptism and Communion gifts. That’s what capable parents do. See about legal emancipation—I underline this last item on my list. I don’t want my father or Christian getting their filthy mitts on that account.
“We’ve got an appointment in Marquette tomorrow after school.” Janelle takes a spoonful of mashed sweet potatoes and then passes me the bowl. “They have a clinic there.” I don’t even realize I’ve dropped my gaze to the table until I feel her finger on my chin coaxing me to look at her. “Hey now, it’s just to meet with a counselor to talk things out. Shoot, I shouldn’t have phrased it like that.”
“No, Janelle, it’s okay. I just…”
“What? Have you come to a decision?”
“I don’t want to get rid of it.”
Before I blurted out those words, I really hadn’t come to a decision, but now I feel some measure of relief in knowing my three choices are reduced to two.
The ensuing silence makes me uneasy so I fumble for something to say. “I mean, I don’t know if you…”
“If I what, child? You have to speak. I can’t read your mind.”
“Do you mind if I live here until I deliver the baby?”
She sets about cutting into her steak. “Not at all.” And without missing a beat, she adds, “Pass the biscuits, sweetie, will you?”
Chapter Sixteen
Charlotte
After that first trip to the clinic with Janelle, I make the drive for my monthly appointments on my own. Sometimes I pass the time checking out the other girls in the waiting room, guessing as to what each one’s story is. Some are there to get birth control, you can tell by their no-nonsense attitude or the bored way they flip through the reproductive health brochures. Some are teary-eyed. They’re the newbies, fretting over the pregnancy test they’re about to take—the one that will confirm what they already know. Then there are the girls who stare straight ahead wearing a blank expression. Decision made, keeping it or not keeping it, accepting of their fate. When I’m not busy judging everyone else in the room, I imagine it’s how I look.
Every other month I also meet with Penny, the social worker assigned to my case. The Case of the Wishy-Washy Unwed Teen Mom—that’s the title I’d pick for this caper. She does her best to cover a variety of topics with me, but I know the real purpose of these sessions. Penny is dedicated to the welfare of my unborn child. Her job is to determine if I’m mentally stable, if I’m prepared and able to provide a good quality home for this baby. If she deems me lacking, it’s her job to steer me towards adoption.
I’m not painting her in a flattering light, even though I like her. I appreciate her candid nature, the way she gives it to me straight. She warns me that no matter what I decide to do, nothing is going to be easy. She doesn’t treat me like an idiot, even though I often feel like one for getting pregnant in the first place.
Now seven months along, I earn curious looks on a daily basis in the halls of my high school. I don’t care. Not most days, anyway. I wear my indifference like a shield. I notice two girls in the senior class who are in the same predicament, but feel no compulsion to swap war stories with them. They aren’t looking to befriend me either—cue my not disappointed sigh.
Janelle helped me fill out the waiver form to take the GED exam early. I plan on acing it this coming Thursday. The legal emancipation business is going to have to wait, though. Apparently my father needs to sign off on it to forego court proceedings, so Janelle and I agreed it was best to let it lie. Hopefully he won’t remember about that bank account until after my eighteenth birthday.
My back is hurting as I heft myself up onto the exam table today. “Shirt up, princess,” the ultrasound tech teases. Shirt up—I know the routine. I cringe as that goo is spread over my middle. “You’ll get a clear look at the baby today. You ready?”
My gaze shifts to the monitor. “I guess.” It’s a blurry image. “I thought these things were super clear now.”
She chuckles. “We don’t have those fancy three dimensional machines here at the clinic. But you can still make everything out just fine.”
“If it’s a boy or a girl? You can see that?”
I ask the question, even though I know the answer. No one asked if I wanted to know the sex at the twenty-week sonogram, and I can tell this one isn’t about to just offer it up today. The doctor will tell me if I ask, but I’m not sure I want to know just yet.
“Hmm, depends if this little critter cooperates. Here we’ve got some nice little fingers and toes…Spine looks good.” She looks pensive for a split second and then starts taking screen shots, one after another. Seems like a lot more than she took the last time. Back and forth she goes with the probe over my belly, then more images. She has her smile back in place, but now it seems toothy and forced.
“Everything good?”
She gives me a kind look but says nothing as she hands me a wad of paper towels and gestures for me to sit up. “Doctor will be in shortly, honey.”
Within an hour of the ultrasound, I’m being transported to the Children’s Hospital in Ann Arbor. The fetal echocardiogram revealed a severe obstruction of the aortic valve. My son has a heart defect that may prove to be fatal if left untreated.
The course of your life can change in the blink of an eye. Instead of tackling the GED this coming Thursday as planned, I’m now scheduled for surgery.
When the doctors begin throwing around phrases like long-term prognosis and best chance at a normal life, I struggle not to zone out. I force myself to nod, making every attempt to keep up when I’m told the problem has to be repaired in utero as soon as possible.
Janelle is the one who stays tuned in, writes down everything the doctors say, researches the procedure and then explains it to me.
The night before my surgery, I wake from a nap to see Janelle crying softly as she sits in a chair at my bedside.
“The baby has a good prognosis, right Janelle?” I’m suddenly worried that the adults haven’t shared the whole truth with me.
“Yes, and we’re in one of the finest hospitals in the country. You and the baby couldn’t be in better hands.” She wipes at her cheeks and takes a deep breath. “Did your father ever tell you about my husband?”
“You were married?”
She laughs. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“No! I mean, Dad never mentioned that you were married.”
“I’m sure he rarely spoke my name aloud.” I don’t feel the need to confirm that truth. “I shouldn’t be so hard on him. He had it tough, I guess. My father died when he was just sixteen. That’s pretty young to take on the responsibility of an unstable mother and a younger sister.”
“He never talks about his childhood.”
“I think he feels ashamed about running out on us when he finished high school. He was young…I never blamed him. I was sent to live with an aunt when my school called protective services on my mother.” In response to my gasp, Janelle shrugs in a matter of fact way. “She drank heavily after my father died.”
“My dad enlisted in the Navy.�
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“Yes. It was his way out. And I didn’t see him again for another eight years. I was shocked he even came to our mother’s funeral. By then he’d gone and married your mom.” Janelle smiles. “She was beautiful and entirely too good for my brother. But he loved her. I’ll always remember the way he looked at her as she held Christian. It was like his entire world resided in her.”
“I barely remember what they were like together.”
“You were so young when she had the stroke. I came to stay and help out for a few days. Do you remember?”
I wanted to tell her that I remembered, but I didn’t. “No.”
“You were so sad. I could barely get you to come out of your room. And your brother…” She looks up to the ceiling, shaking her head. “God forgive me, but he was a monster.” I laugh at that. “He rolled his eyes and walked away from me when I introduced myself. He spit the homemade lamb stew I made back onto his plate after one bite—said it tasted ‘like ass.’ On day three I threw in the towel when he told me to fuck off and your dad didn’t correct him.” In response to my wide eyes, she nods and puts her hand over her heart. “Swear to God.”
“I believe you.”
“I always felt alone growing up. Your dad and I were never close, and my mother was not up to being a mother. After my visit, I’d wonder about you from time to time—hoped you had an easier time of it.”
“Me and Christian aren’t close, never were. My father was always closer to Christian. They had football in common.”
“Your dad and I were never close either. He did give me away at my wedding, though.” Janelle shoots me a sly grin. “Turned out to be a bad omen, I guess.”
“What happened?”
“Paul was a really nice guy…He still is. I ended things after nine years. I just couldn’t stand disappointing him anymore, even though he never acted like having children was a make or break situation.”
“I’m so sorry.”