by Nicole Maggi
Hearing that Rosemary didn’t regret her decision made me jittery, like I’d just discovered something wonderful and rare. If she could stand by herself and her decision, maybe I could too.
“I know some people will say things happen for a reason or are fated,” Rosemary went on, “but I think we all have a choice. This is your life. You have a say in how you want to live it. If you don’t want to be a mother at sixteen, then you shouldn’t have to be.”
I don’t know why, but it’s this that makes me feel like I can let go of my guilt and someday have a life like hers. Rosemary’s story gives me hope that I can be a mother in my own time, on my own terms.
“Thank you,” I told her, but those seem like such small words in comparison to the enormous gift she had given me.
After that, Lise went upstairs to talk to Rowan, and Rosemary went off to get sheets for the pullout couch and our overnight bags from the car. And that’s where I am now, lying in the pulled-out bed, writing all this down in my journal. Seeing it on paper helps me make some sense of it.
Lise just came back.
When she saw me writing in my journal, she laughed and pulled hers from her backpack. Her notebook looks a lot fuller than mine. She must’ve started it earlier than I did. She changed into her sweats and climbed into the bed next to me. We’re writing in silence together, the only sound that of our pens scratching against the paper.
Signed,
Mellie Rivers
EDITED TO ADD: When Lise stopped writing, we both looked at each other. And without a word, we exchanged journals and began reading.
March 23 (because yes, there is still more to write about today)
Dear Ms. Tilson—
Rowan wasn’t mad. He didn’t ask me to tell him everything. He only wanted to know that I was okay.
I told him I was, but that Mellie was in trouble. And I had to help her.
“Of course you did. That’s what you do. Help people.”
He’s said this before, and Cara has said it—hell, everyone who knows me has said it—but this time it really sank in. It’s true. Helping people is what I do. It was like a gear that’s always been loose inside me clicked into place. That is what I want to do with my life. This is my thing, like Rowan has writing and Mellie has art and Cara has fashion. I want to go into politics. I want to effect change that helps people. I want to make laws that will make people’s lives better. I want to create a world where girls don’t have to go through what Mellie is going through.
When I realized this, I burst into tears.
I cried for a long time, until my eyes hurt.
Rowan was a little beside himself, but he sat with me and let me cry.
I don’t even know why I was crying. Maybe it’s relief at finally knowing what I’m meant to do. Maybe it’s sorrow and fear for Mellie. But maybe it’s something deeper and more complicated. I thought about what Mellie would be doing if I hadn’t followed her into the bathroom after gym class. Would she have taken the PCC’s advice and decided to keep the baby? Would she have gone through with the abortion in that trailer? Would she have made her own decision, or would someone have made it for her?
I don’t know the answers to any of these questions.
I believe what Rosemary told Mellie, that we should be free to make our own choices, to determine our own fate.
I also believe that sometimes fate gives us a little push, and we should let ourselves be pushed. That’s why I followed Mellie that first day. Was it fate? For all Mellie has gone through, it brought us together. I can’t imagine life without her now. She helped me to realize my purpose in life.
After I cried myself out, Rowan and I talked for a long time. I told him about my mom, and what she does, and why I had to hide it from him. I think he was a little hurt that I didn’t trust him with that secret. And that I told Mellie about it before my dedicated, loyal, longtime boyfriend. But he said he understood. I think he does.
Now Mellie and I are on the pullout bed in the TV room, writing in our journals. I want her to read what I’ve written. I feel like she has a right to that. She’s been the main topic of this journal for the last few weeks. She should read it. It’s only fair.
I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. We still have another thirty-eight hours to get through. Maybe Mr. Rivers won’t find us here. Maybe tomorrow will pass uneventfully, and we’ll get her to the clinic unseen, and everything will be fine.
But somehow I think that fate isn’t quite done with us yet.
—Lise
March 24
Dear Ms. Tilson,
Lise’s phone woke me up.
I can’t believe I actually slept, but I did, and really well. Next to me, Lise moaned and grabbed her phone from the table next to her. She checked the text and sat up. “Mom’s on her way over.”
When I walked into the kitchen, the light from the windows was blinding. It’s a wonderland outside, the landscape white and crystalline, like a postcard you’d find at an Aspen resort. The snow was piled up to the windowsills, the roads pristine and unplowed. “How the heck is your mom going to get here?” I asked Lise.
“On skis.”
And sure enough, several minutes later, she came into view, striding down the street on cross-country skis. Wow. I’ve seen other people do that when it snows, but my mom would never be one of them.
I want to be the kind of woman who skis through town after a blizzard.
Alanna brought in a blast of cold with her when she opened the door. “We’re definitely stuck here for a while.” She wrapped her hands around a mug of coffee that Rosemary poured for her. “The plows are still out on the main road through the passes. I doubt they’ll get to town until later today at the earliest.”
Lise looked between us. “So what do we do? Hunker down here and hope Mr. Rivers doesn’t find us?”
“Why would he?” Alanna asked. “I think we’re safe. I’m just worried about getting to the clinic tomorrow.”
I think we’re safe. I’ve latched on to those words. Lise’s car is buried under snow out front, but if my dad recognizes it… He saw Lise yesterday, and he knows that she and I are friends… There are many dots to connect, but whether he’d be able to put them together in time, I don’t know.
Rosemary made us all pancakes and we ate around her big dining room table made out of reclaimed barn wood. It’s all so normal and nice, like she does this every Saturday morning. Which she probably does. She makes pancakes for her son and her friends who ski over to her house through the snow. Saturday mornings at my house revolve around whatever campaign stop Dad has to make that day.
Most of the day has passed like that. Quiet. Cozy. Curled up safe from the cold outside. Me, Lise, and Rowan settled in for a Parks and Rec marathon while Rosemary and Alanna hung out in the kitchen. We could hear their laughter from the TV room. As if there is nowhere they would rather be on a day like today.
I’m writing this all down because I need to document it. I need to have written proof that what I’m doing isn’t going to end the world, that I can make this decision and there can be still be good things in life like pancakes and lazy Saturdays spent with Netflix. That people will still love me when it’s
HE’S HERE.
I HAVE TO GO.
March 24
Ms. Tilson—
He found us.
I can’t think. I need to think. Which is why I’m writing right now. It’s helping me think. Where did she go? Where would Mellie go?
My mom—no, I can’t think about her now. I need to figure out where Mellie is.
She ran out the back door when she heard his voice booming through Rosemary and Rowan’s house like he owned it. His knocking on the door reverberated in my bones. That’s how loud it was. It felt like the house was going to collapse on our heads. I think maybe my house did collapse on my head
today.
Before Rosemary even opened the door, Mellie knew it was him. I could see it in her eyes, that deer-in-headlights look.
I was on my feet in an instant and into the kitchen, Rowan right behind me. Rosemary opened the door. Without being asked, without even saying, “Hello, I’m Mr. Rivers, do you know where my daughter is?” he barged in, pushing past Rosemary to march up to me.
“Where’s my daughter?”
“Excuse me!” Rosemary bellowed, her Mama Bear coming out. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Mr. Rivers ignored her. “Where is my daughter?” he repeated, advancing on me. Before he could get to me, Mom stepped in, putting herself between us.
“Back away from my daughter, Mr. Rivers,” she said. She was so strong, so calm, like a mountain facing off with a tsunami.
Mr. Rivers flicked his gaze from me to her. “You,” he growls. “You’re the doctor who called me.”
The room fell silent.
Mr. Rivers knows. He knows about my mom.
Mellie is gone, and Mayor Rivers knows about my mom. Everything I’ve done to protect both of them has failed.
I feel empty. This must be what it feels like to have lost all hope.
If Mr. Rivers knows about Mom, what is he going to do with that information? I can’t—Mom had to be scared, but she did not show it. She was just focused on Mellie. That’s what I have to focus on now—
One thing at a time, Lise, one thing at time.
I have to figure out where Mellie is before I can do anything else.
Mr. Rivers stormed out once he realized Mellie was not in the house. He is looking for her. He’s looking for her right now. He has a head start, he’ll find her before I do…
I have no idea where she went.
Think, Lise. Think.
Tracks lead out the back door and disappear on the road behind Rowan’s house, which got plowed a couple of hours ago. Where would she go?
School is closed. She can’t go home. She wouldn’t go to another friend’s house, because I’m the only one who knows what is happening.
I wish I were religious. This is when I’d start praying. But I do have faith—in myself—
Wait.
I KNOW WHERE SHE IS.
March 24
(I have lost track of time)
Dear Ms. Tilson,
When everything else is closed, God is always open.
I was out the back door of Rosemary’s house before I knew where I was going, but somehow my feet brought me here. Somehow I knew the church would be open, even if half the roads are still unplowed and the pile of snow against the front doors is so high that I had to go in through the side door.
I think someone might be here, in the back offices. There’s a light on and every once in a while I hear a cough. Whoever it is didn’t hear me come in. I snuck up through the balcony to the little alcove behind the organ. Tucked in there, it’s quiet and warm. It feels safe here. The only other person who knows about it is the organist.
Well, there is one more person.
Years ago, when Lise and I were in Girl Scouts together, we were paired for an exercise. The troop was still new and it was one of those getting-to-know-you games, where you tell the other person one thing about yourself, and she tells you one thing, and then you switch partners and learn something new about everybody until you’re all best friends by the end of the meeting.
Lise went first. She said that the week before she’d been horseback riding for the first time, and she loved it so much that all she wanted to do was ride horses, morning, noon, and night, that she wanted to ride horses for the rest of her life. She was afraid to tell her parents because she knew how expensive and all-consuming it was to have a horse and they’d never buy one for her.
I remember being impressed that Lise understood words like “expensive” and “all-consuming.” We were only six, and I was just starting to learn that Mommy and Daddy couldn’t give me everything I asked for. Especially since there was another kid on the way, and who knew how many after that? (One more, as it turned out. But it was enough.) And I remember being really jealous that Lise was an only child. What was that like to have all your parents’ attention?
She looked at me, expectant, ready to hear what I was going to share.
There were so many things I could’ve said.
I feel like my parents have so many kids and not a big enough capacity to love for all of them.
I feel like I’m not as special as my sister, because she was born first, or my brother, because he is a boy.
I feel like I’m not supposed to dream big, that I should dream very, very small, because that’s all I’m going to get.
But I didn’t tell her any of those things. Instead, I told her about this place. It’s so quiet, I told her, not like my own house, which is always filled with noise. After church, when my parents were talking with the other adults at coffee hour and my older brother and sister were off playing with their friends, I would come here, to be in the quiet.
To hear my own thoughts.
To hear my heart.
To hear God.
In this quiet, I can hear myself now.
My own thoughts. Not anyone else’s.
I’ve done so much thinking since that pink line appeared on the stick. I’ve thought myself to exhaustion. When I heard Dad’s voice booming through Rosemary’s house, I stopped thinking. I ran. I ran until I knew they couldn’t find me, and now I’m hiding again. I’ve spent as much time hiding as thinking.
As I write this, I realize I’m done with both.
I’m done thinking. I’ve made my choice, and I’m ready to act on it. In order to do that, I can’t hide anymore.
When I was hiding under that blanket in Lise’s car… I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want anyone else to save me. I want to save myself.
It’s time to step into the open. My parents can’t chase me around this town forever. I have to tell them the truth. They have as much right to hear it as I have to say it. Even if they don’t believe me, I know the truth. No one can take that away from me.
There are footsteps coming up the stairs.
Pastor Charlie?
No, too light to be him.
Who…
Of course.
Even after all these years, she remembered. “We don’t have to go down,” she said. “We can stay here.”
“No,” I told her. “It’s time to stop hiding.”
Signed,
Mellie Rivers
March 24
Dear Ms. Tilson,
At the beginning of this journal I wrote how I had everything but didn’t know it.
What I meant was, I had nothing, because it was built on lies.
Now, I have nothing.
But that nothing is built on truth.
So I have everything.
Signed,
Mellie Rivers
March 24
(Still)
This day will go on in me for a long time
Dear Ms. Tilson,
I’m a few hours removed from what happened, and I think I can write about it now. The scene is still replaying in my mind like a movie on repeat. Maybe if I write it all out, I can move on. Maybe that’s what you had in mind all along when you handed us these journals, that by writing down all our innermost thoughts we can let it all go and get on with our lives.
Lise and I climbed down from the church balcony. Outside, the sunlight hurt my eyes. In the car, she called her mom to tell her where we were going.
I told her not to.
It was too dangerous for her, I said. “He has guns in the house.”
Lise glanced at me. “If I go in there without backup, my mother will kill me herself.”
&nb
sp; So we called for backup: Alanna, Rosemary, and Rowan.
We all got to the house at the same time. Lise gripped my arm as we walked up the driveway. “Are you ready?”
No. But I was never going to be ready. I don’t think you’re ever ready for moments like this.
The front door opened before we reached it. Dad stepped outside and pointed at Alanna. “That woman”—he spat—“is not welcome in my house.”
“I’m not going inside without her,” I said. “So you can let her in or we can have this out on the front lawn where all the neighbors can see.”
“What kind of lies have you been telling my daughter?” he snarled at Alanna.
“None!” I yelled back before Alanna could answer. “She’s helping me…more than you or Mom have. You have it all wrong about that clinic, Dad.”
Mom appeared in the doorway like Dad’s shadow. “Please, please come inside,” she said quietly, looking at the surrounding houses. I followed her gaze across the street. A front curtain twitched, as though someone had been watching. Dad must’ve seen too, because he stepped aside.
I didn’t know what to expect inside. I half expected to see Jeremy guarding the Rivers family turf with a shotgun. Instead, he was sitting on the stairs. Hannah stood in the entry to the kitchen, her face pale. Bethany and my younger sisters were nowhere to be seen. I think if they’d been there, I would’ve faltered.
It hurts so much right now, thinking about how I’ve broken my family. Or did my family break me? I don’t know. The pain threads through everything, like a circle with no beginning or ending. Is there ever going to be a day when it stops hurting so much?
Dad closed the door behind us once we were all inside. Lise had joked that our door is like a dungeon door, and for the first time in my life, I got that. It felt like we were being locked in.
Dad and Mom came around to face me, Hannah and Jeremy behind them. My own army fanned out around me. Okay, I thought. If this is a battle, then here we go.