by Luanne Rice
Chloe’s shoulder ached from the weight of her books in her knapsack, all part of her elaborate ruse. Why hadn’t she taken just one? She could have told her mother that she and Mona were doing science homework, and taken her Wildlife in the Estuary paperback, and gotten away with it.
But no. She had to make a big show of packing her book bag, heading out the door, climbing onto her bike. Only, instead of turning left onto Mona’s road, Chloe had just kept riding—straight through Crofton, across the old granite bridge that crossed the Williams River, into Twin Rivers.
Chloe wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, but she knew enough to get out of her own town. Her stomach flipped as she coasted down the hill toward the mall. Her pulse was racing so fast, she could hardly stand it. She was in total suspense, as if she were reading a scary book—only the whole story, the happy or unhappy ending, was right with her, in her own body.
She was afraid she might be pregnant.
She hadn’t told Mona, hadn’t even admitted it to herself. It had only been about a week since she and Zeke had gone to the orchard. Her period wasn’t late or anything. But she had the horrible sensation of alien sperm in her body—his unwanted forced-upon-her condomless grossness—and she had to know.
All the pregnancy tests were called things like “Early Detection,” “First Thought,” and “Right Now.” So that must mean they were made for speedy results—a week should be plenty long enough. Chloe realized she could wait for her period—still a few days away—but she didn’t think she could last. She had to know now.
She knew the mall had a big drugstore, but Chloe was afraid of running into some of her Crofton friends there. So she pedaled past, heading for the old downtown area instead. Twin Rivers was an old mill town with stately old redbrick factories, some turned into condos, but most going to wrack and ruin. Its downtown was pretty thin: just a few old stores that looked tired and sad. A stationers, a law office, a pawn shop.
Chloe rode faster; there had to be a drugstore here somewhere. She cruised up Main Street and down Arch Street. Passing a diner, her stomach growled. She felt hungry. Wasn’t that a sign of pregnancy? Eating for two? She pedaled harder.
Around the bend, she saw the big building sitting atop the next rise: Twin Rivers General Hospital. Babies were being born there, probably at this exact moment. Chloe thought of the story of her own birth, or the parts her parents knew about: how they had gone to Women and Infants with the blanket and diaper bag and pink baby clothes they had bought, to bring her home . . .
Knowing that hospitals always had pharmacies, and thinking there was no one she could possibly know there, Chloe rode up the hill. Her calf muscles burned with the effort, and by the time she got there, she was breathless—not just from exertion, but with sheer panic.
She locked her bike to the rack out front. A bunch of orderlies stood by the door, smoking. She thought of Uncle Dylan and felt sad. But almost instantly, her worry returned. She had had sex. And it was sex under a bad sign: with a boy who had tricked her into thinking he liked her.
The lobby was bright, teeming with people. Families sat in clusters, some looking shell-shocked. Bad things happened in hospitals, Chloe thought. It was a mistake to come here. She almost turned right around to leave, but then she saw the pharmacy sign and an arrow. Now or never, she thought.
Hurrying down the hallway, she found the shop. The front was full of magazines, paperback books, and stuffed animals. A display of balloons and flowers was off to the side. Chloe marched past the fun stuff, directly to the shelves of medical-type things. She steeled herself, searching for the tests. Passing a shelf of sanitary products, she almost cried—never had they ever looked so good. Would she ever need Kotex again? She prayed that she would—in a week.
Her hands shaking, she stared. She was such a virgin—or had been, until Zeke—that she’d never even used a tampon yet. Shouldn’t pregnancy tests be right here? But they weren’t. She searched the shelves, making her way toward the back of the store, to the pharmacy desk.
Oh, shit.
There they were: the little oblong boxes, behind the counter with condoms and yeast-infection ointments. Chloe had had one—a yeast infection—last year, and she remembered that her mother had had to ask the pharmacist for the cure. Oh, God. This was embarrassing. And what if they required ID? What if she had to be eighteen or something, to buy the test?
After she’d gotten busted at family court, for impersonating a twenty-one-year-old, Chloe and Mona had chalked a couple of IDs. She had hers in her wallet; because of her birth year and the difficulty of turning an “8” into anything but a “0,” she had made herself born in 1980, which made her twenty-four. She cleared her throat, preparing to sound mature if need be.
“May I help you?” the pharmacist, a young woman, asked.
“Yes,” Chloe said. Her mind was scrambled, but she made her voice sound calm. “May I please have a First Thought pregnancy test?” She was ready with her fake ID, and as a fallback, a made-up story, “It’s for my older sister, who’s out in the car,” ready to jump across the counter and grab it off the shelf.
But none of that was necessary. The pharmacist reached for the test, placed it on the counter, rang it up.
“That will be fifteen thirty-seven,” she said.
Chloe handed her a twenty—money paid to her by Uncle Dylan, funds that should have gone to feeding the cats. Her palms were so sweaty, she was pretty sure the money would be soaked through. The woman put the test kit in a paper bag and handed Chloe her change. “Have a nice—” she began.
But Chloe didn’t wait to hear the rest. Tearing into the hallway, she looked both ways. Where was the ladies’ room? Seeing a sign, she ran to the left. Flying around the corner, she saw a bank of telephones, mostly occupied. She came face to face with a man pushing a bucket with a mop sticking out of it. He was just placing a yellow plastic folding sign in the open bathroom door. It said: Closed for cleaning.
“No!” Chloe cried out. “I have to go in there.”
“Other bathrooms upstairs,” he said, gesturing.
“I can’t wait!” she wailed.
She was so ready to pee on the stick, she thought she’d have a heart attack. She was too upset to look for other bathrooms—the men’s room was right there, next to the ladies’, with no yellow sign in the door.
“You can’t enter,” the janitor said as she slapped her hand on the door handle. “Men inside—”
“No,” Chloe wailed.
She was causing such a commotion, all the people on the pay phones turned to look at her. She might just as well have been wearing a sign on her forehead: I think I’m pregnant and I’m having a nervous breakdown. Thank God she didn’t know any of the people.
Only she did. One of the people was Jane.
Chloe’s heart should have sunk, but instead it leapt. She was so glad to see Jane’s friendly face, the rescuing dream face of the woman in the floating pie, that Chloe actually ran toward her.
“Chloe, what’s wrong?” Jane said, holding a quarter in one hand.
“Finish your call,” Chloe said.
“I haven’t made it yet,” Jane said, her face full of alarm, holding Chloe’s hand as she gently steered her away from everyone else’s hearing. “What are you doing here?”
“Something happened to me,” Chloe gulped, feeling the sob boil up and overtake her. “Something happened to me in the orchard with Zeke . . .”
“Did he hurt you?” Jane asked.
The words ripped the sob right out of her chest, and Chloe felt hot tears on her cheeks. He had hurt her so much . . . She nodded, and there was so much to say, but all she could whisper, in the squeakiest voice humanly possible, was, “I think I might be pregnant.”
CHAPTER 19
They were in the car, in the front seat of Jane’s station wagon, sitting in the hospital parking lot. Jane knew that Sylvie was expecting her to return upstairs to the ER waiting room, but there was nothing on earth tha
t would keep Jane from Chloe at this moment. She sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for Chloe to stop crying.
“Are you okay?” Jane asked, handing her another coffee-stained Dunkin’ Donuts napkin.
Chloe nodded her head, blowing her nose. “I think so. I still have to take the test, though. Maybe they’ve finished cleaning the bathroom by now.”
“In just a second,” Jane said, wanting to make sure she was really all right. Those words she had used . . . “Chloe, what did you mean when you said something happened to you?”
“Nothing, honestly.”
“It didn’t sound like nothing; you said something happened in the orchard with Zeke—who is he?”
“Just a big sharky jerk.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
Chloe shook her head fiercely. Her eyes were sharp, her jaw tense. But suddenly she dissolved in tears, and she buried her face in the wadded-up napkins. Jane’s heart broke as Chloe sobbed. The pain came from deep inside; she sounded as if she was being destroyed. Jane reached for her hand, wet with tears. Her own insides ached, and she remembered crying like this for Jeffrey.
“I . . . thought . . . he was . . .” Chloe wept.
“What did he do?” Jane asked.
“He . . . called . . . me . . . Zoe!”
“Instead of Chloe?”
Chloe nodded. “He pretended he did it on purpose. Because Zeke begins with a Z, he thought my name should, too . . .”
“A conceited way to think.”
“But it wasn’t even true! I think he just got my name wrong, and was trying to cover it up!”
“That creep,” Jane said. She waited. Was that the worst of it? It was bad—horrible. But Chloe was still crying hard, as if there was more to come. Jane’s stomach dropped as Chloe squeezed her hand.
“Did you love him?” Jane asked.
“I think so. I thought so . . .”
“You gave him your heart, Chloe,” Jane said, stroking her hand. “You tried to show him how you felt . . .”
“I’m not like that, though,” Chloe said. “I never do things with boys. I’m the straightest kid around. I used to think I was weird, that there was something wrong with me, because I’d never even gone to second base.” She looked up with a tear-streaked face. “Do you know what that is?”
Jane nodded.
“I’m the least likely girl in school to be sitting in a car with a home pregnancy test in my bag.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re wrong or bad, Chloe,” Jane said. “You’re still the most wonderful girl I know.”
Chloe almost laughed. “You hardly know me. You must not know many wonderful girls.”
Jane swallowed, staying calm. Holding Chloe’s wet hand with one hand, she felt she was keeping them tethered together. “I have good judgment, when it comes to that.”
“You probably wouldn’t feel that way if you knew what happened.”
“You can tell me, if you want.”
Chloe snorted loudly. Jane absently touched her locket. Chloe used another handful of napkins. Into them she said wetly, “Well, I had sex.”
“Uh-huh,” Jane said, trying not to sound anything but neutral.
“You probably figured that, considering—” Chloe pointed at the bag.
“I did,” Jane said. “It’s okay, Chloe.”
“I was always a good girl,” Chloe said.
“You couldn’t be anything else,” Jane said. “No matter whether you had sex or not.”
“The thing is . . . I’m not sure I wanted to,” she said.
Jane stared at her. Chloe couldn’t look up. Jane’s heart smashed against her ribs. She struggled to stay very calm. “You’re not sure you wanted to . . . have sex with him?”
Chloe nodded.
“Did he—did he force you?”
“That’s kind of a gray area,” Chloe said.
“But you didn’t want to?” Jane asked, her pulse gaining velocity.
“It was in the orchard,” Chloe said. “Or, rather, that’s where we met. It was a beautiful night. It was the night you and my uncle went out. He told me.”
Jane bit her lip. When she and Dylan were at Campus Dance.
“There were stars everywhere,” Chloe said. “They were in the trees.”
Jane nodded. “I remember,” she said, waiting.
“He held my hand; he walked me through the trees. I loved the smell; it was dark and quiet, and it smelled so green, like brand-new leaves. There were night birds calling; it was romantic.”
Jane thought of that Campus Dance so long ago, the night this girl had come into her body. The night had smelled of springtime.
“He led me to the brook. We have this trickling little stream; and he crossed me to the other side . . .” she let out something like a cry. “He must have thought he was doing me a favor—getting me off my family land, before he did what he was going to do . . .”
“What did he do?” Jane asked, trying to make her voice as soft as possible.
“Well, he had me lie down; and then things started.” Chloe closed her eyes; she was squeezing them tightly shut.
Jane forced herself to stay silent. A shift must have changed; people were walking out of the hospital. People wearing green scrubs, white uniforms, navy blue uniforms. Cars drove out, other cars drove in. Chloe was oblivious.
“Did you say ‘no’?” Jane asked, after long minutes of silence.
Chloe shrugged, tears rolling out of her tightly closed eyes. “I can’t remember,” she said.
“Is that what you meant?” Jane asked, her body and blood burning.
Chloe nodded.
“Oh, honey . . .”
“I have to take the test,” Chloe said. “I have to know. Will you walk me back inside?” She picked that moment to open her eyes, just as a very blond woman walked past the car. Chloe gasped, even as she ducked down. Out of the corner of her eye, the blonde caught the movement, and her mouth opened in an O of recognition.
“Drive out, drive out,” Chloe commanded.
Jane hesitated, then turned the key.
The blond woman tapped on the window, staring straight at the top of Chloe’s head. “Chloe, is that you? It’s me—Rhianna! Mona’s mom!” She waved at Jane, trying to get her attention.
“Drive,” Chloe begged.
Jane shifted into reverse, nearly drove over Rhianna’s toe, and peeled out of the parking lot.
“Did she see me?” Chloe asked, inching up to peer over the seat back as Jane sped out of the parking lot.
“She said your name . . .”
“But she might have been mistaken—I might have been some other kid who just looks like me. I might be—your daughter!”
Jane drove, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the white line.
“We both have dark hair,” Chloe said. “We both know it’s romantic to see stars in the trees. Not everyone knows that. My mother would like to see the orchard cut down, so houses could be built there.”
Nodding, Jane didn’t say anything. But she registered the words “my mother.”
As they drove farther away from the parking lot, Chloe said, “Rhianna’s not Mona’s real mother. Did you hear how she called herself that? ‘Mona’s mom.’ Well, she’s not. And neither is my mom my real mother.”
“Oh,” Jane said, driving east for no good reason other than that was the direction in which the car was pointed.
“I’m adopted.”
“You are?” Jane asked.
Chloe nodded. “But at least my adoptive mother loves me and treats me really well—not like Rhianna and Mona. I’m lucky, in that way.”
“In what way?” Jane said.
“That I’m loved. By my adoptive mother. I know one thing.” She held up the pregnancy test. “If this is positive, I’m keeping the baby.”
Jane glanced across the seat.
“I would never be able to do what my real mother did,” Chloe said.
“What did she do?” Jane asked, her mout
h dry.
“Gave me up. Had me . . . gave me my name . . . and just gave me away. She was a college girl, and she had to finish her education. College was more important to her than I was.”
The car was silent, all except for the sound of the tires turning on the road. Jane couldn’t speak. Her skin hurt. Every inch of her body wanted to cry out the truth. But instead she just kept driving. She said, “I’m sure it wasn’t as easy as that.”
Chloe didn’t reply. She had opened the pregnancy test and was reading the directions. After a moment, she raised her head and looked around. They were on a quiet country road, in the middle of nowhere. “Can you stop?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard Jane’s words.
“Right here?” Jane asked, shaking. “There’s nothing around. Lambton is just a few miles away—I think we’ll find a gas station—”
“No—here,” Chloe said. “I want to do it in the woods. It will be a good omen.”
“Your uncle tells me you love nature,” Jane said, trying to smile, trying to control herself.
“I do,” Chloe said. And the second Jane pulled onto the sandy shoulder of the shady road, Chloe jumped out the door and bounded into the trees. The test directions lay on the seat, a white sheet hastily discarded. Jane’s hands were trembling, as she reached out and started to read.
The printed words swam together with her thoughts. She thought of her own mother, coming out of the anesthesia. Sylvie was probably frantic, wanting Jane to be with her to support their mother. And she thought of Chloe’s family—her adoptive family—possibly worried, wondering where she was right now. She hoped that Rhianna person hadn’t misinterpreted Chloe’s ducking down as any kind of threat, a kidnapping . . .
But mainly, Jane thought of Chloe. She imagined what it had been like, being called by the wrong name, then led across the stream. Chloe had wanted to say no, Jane was sure. She was so young, and she had thought she loved him. Gray area . . . Jane could relate so well. She read the instructions, her palms damp. The car window was open; she heard an oriole singing in the trees.
After a minute, she heard Chloe’s footsteps. The car door opened, then closed.