Sarah felt sure that even Justin would admit that. He was not a bad person. He had even offered to marry her. But, for all his good nature, he was a coward.
She put her face in her hands, ashamed in her own presence. How could she have agreed to have sex with someone with such a weak character? It was disgusting. It was that “smart women making stupid choices” syndrome all over again. Would women ever break that pattern of self-sabotage and destruction?
Of course not. Women were human. Humans were seriously flawed. Sarah had never been in doubt of that.
She thought back to the first time she and Justin had had sex. It had almost happened before, but she had always pulled back at very nearly the last minute. Justin had always been so patient, so nice about it. At least, he had pretended to be. And then, when she had finally said yes, okay, it was Justin who had said no, let’s wait until next time. And the next time they were together at his apartment he had brought in flowers from the grocery store and had lit a few half-burned-down candles and had even offered her a glass of white wine. She had said no to the wine but had been touched by his efforts to make the night romantic. And then, he had been so attentive....
Now, the memories of that night brought only embarrassment. Cheap flowers, old candles, and wine offered to an underage girl hadn’t meant romance at all. They certainly hadn’t meant love.
Sarah lifted her face from her hands and with a sigh continued to dress for school.
You reap what you sow. Sarah thought about those words as she pulled a sweatshirt over her head. The effect was the result of the cause. The pregnancy was her responsibility; she was its cause. So was the pregnancy also a punishment of some sort? Or was that superstitious thinking? If so, where had it come from? She had never succumbed to superstitious thinking before.
You made your bed; now lie in it. Was that sort of the same thing? You made a choice, so whatever the result of that choice, it was yours to own and survive.
Sarah reached for her backpack and checked that it contained the books she would need for that day’s classes. Such a mundane activity, when her entire world was spinning out of control!
She wasn’t sure she had ever felt real guilt in her life before now. Sure, she had felt sorry on occasion, like when she disobeyed her parents (that had only happened once that she could recall) or the time she had tripped that girl in second grade (it had been an accident, Sarah hadn’t seen her coming, so she hadn’t brought her foot out of the aisle and back under her desk), but not real guilt like she felt now. She knew how hugely her pregnancy would affect her parents’ lives. And she was so, so grateful to them for having accepted it the way that they had. But at the same time, she was so, so ashamed to be causing them such trouble.
“Sarah! Breakfast is ready!”
Sarah cringed. How strange it felt, her mother making her breakfast as if she were still a child. But of course she was still a child, one who would be making breakfast for her own child before long.
She had absolutely no appetite, but for the baby’s sake, for her baby’s sake, Sarah went down to the kitchen and cleared her plate.
Chapter 23
Jack and Cordelia had left for school, Jack at six thirty, in his car, and Cordelia some time later, on the school bus. Adelaide sat alone at the kitchen table. Her head ached. She had taken three ibuprofen and had drunk a second cup of coffee, but the pain persisted. Well, of course it persisted. Its origins weren’t physical. No amount of stimulants or anti-inflammatory medications were going to budge a pain that had its source in her heart.
Adelaide was in awe of Cindy’s relatively calm acceptance of her daughter’s situation. She wished that she could be so sanguine. But that was impossible because the news had sent her headlong into her own tumultuous, largely secret past.
At the age of seventeen, Adelaide had gotten pregnant.
To say that she hadn’t had parental support would be an understatement. Her parents had been furious that she had “screwed up” and were completely unwilling to disrupt their own lives to raise a grandchild. To be fair, they were in their mid-fifties at the time, still working hard to build a good retirement nest egg, and enjoying a healthy social life, which included travel with other couples whose own teenage daughters were definitely not pregnant.
Adelaide had barely graduated from high school when she learned the devastating truth. It had come as a sickening shock. She had been looking forward to starting college in the fall. She had lined up a good summer job as an administrative assistant in a local accounting firm to boost her savings. And now, everything was ruined.
Her boyfriend, on his way to Harvard that autumn and already planning a career in international journalism, had wanted nothing to do with the baby. In fact, he had offered to pay for an abortion. After dumping her, of course. An abortion was something Adelaide’s mother also had encouraged.
Thinking back, Adelaide realized that she wasn’t sure her father ever knew that his wife had been urging their daughter to have an abortion. He wasn’t the type of man to talk about “feminine” things. In fact, he hadn’t said a word directly to her during those awful months of the pregnancy, other than “Good morning,” “Where’s your mother?” and “Good night.” Safe verbal offerings that couldn’t be misinterpreted or misunderstood even by the most emotionally distraught person.
Adelaide had felt she had no choice but to go through with the pregnancy and arrange to give the baby up for adoption.
It had been very, very odd, carrying a child she would never come to know as a person. It had been very, very difficult. At times, she had felt frantic for the baby to be gone on his or her way to the adoptive family. At other times, she had thought, wildly, that she would abandon her plans for a “normal” life and run away to raise the baby on her own, far from the condemning eyes of her parents.
And during those long months, people would ask her questions, innocuous in themselves, that made her feel as if she had been hit by a brick. “Oh, are you having a boy or girl?” “Have you chosen a name yet?” “Do you have the nursery set up?” And all she could do was to shrug and shake her head and silently answer: “There is no future here. What you’re looking at when you see me is soon to become the irretrievable past. The baby is going to be someone else’s future. He or she will be someone else’s child to name and to nurture.”
It had almost driven her mad.
She had hardly left the house in the final months of the pregnancy, so miserable was she, so desperate to hide herself away from probing questions and curious looks, and worse, the pity she suspected too many people felt for her. The pity she felt she didn’t deserve.
In the end, of course, she had toughed it out and survived. And after the baby had been born and taken away, Adelaide had begun her college career, a semester late and more determined than ever to succeed in building a life for herself.
But over twenty years later, she was still wondering if her decision had been a selfish one. Of course, to some extent it had been, but it also had been made in the baby’s best interest, too. Or, what Adelaide deemed would be in his best interest. His best interest. Though she hadn’t wanted to know the sex of the child, she had found out when a chatty nurse let the bit of information slip. This had upset her terribly. She had felt that the less she knew about the child, the easier it would be to let him go.
Adelaide sighed and rubbed her temples though she knew the attempt to ease the pain was futile. These thoughts and memories would come, and she had learned that it was better to let them visit without protest.
So many times over the years Adelaide had been tempted to search for her baby’s father. She wondered if Michael Baker had succeeded in becoming a journalist of renown. She had never come across his name in print, but then again, she wasn’t entirely familiar with international news sources.
But each time the curiosity had arisen, she had asked herself what good it would do to know that her baby’s father had married, fathered children, gotten divorced, and the
n remarried to someone significantly younger. What good would it do to learn that he had won a prestigious prize for his work and written a best-selling book? What would any of that information gain her? The answer was—nothing. Michael Baker hadn’t wanted anything to do with her or the baby all those years ago. He certainly wouldn’t want anything to do with either of them now. Leave it be, Adelaide, she had told herself. Leave it be.
It was better that Michael Baker forever remain a figure of Adelaide’s long buried past. Except when he came vividly to mind, like he had now, with the news of Sarah’s pregnancy.
Slowly, Adelaide got up from the table. She would go back to bed for a while. She was very, very tired.
Chapter 24
“Cindy? Good to see you.”
It was Mrs. Armstrong. Cindy knew her from The Busy Bee as well as from a reading group she had belonged to briefly. (She had dropped out because she hadn’t liked the choice of novels. She had found most of them very depressing. Why did some people equate literature with misery?)
“And you, as well,” Cindy replied, forcing a smile. Ann Armstrong was a perfectly nice woman, but Cindy just wasn’t in a mood to talk to anyone.
“Seems like the grocery store is our entire social life in winter, doesn’t it?” Ann noted. “What with most of the restaurants closed until spring and the bad weather keeping us indoors most days.”
Cindy agreed, and Mrs. Armstrong moved on in search, she said, of some sort of marginally healthy food that would entice the appetite of her terribly fussy seven-year-old daughter.
Cindy wheeled the cart down the aisle stocked with diapers and wipes, jarred food, formulas, supplements, and snacks that promised everything from increased mental powers to physical perfection. She tried not to look too interested in the products; if anyone she knew saw her, suspicions would be aroused and rumors would start to circulate that one of the Bauer females was pregnant. Still, she looked closely enough to determine that none of it was inexpensive, neither the necessary items like food, nor the optional items like wipes soaked in moisturizing lotion.
Cindy moved on. At the end of the next aisle, she spotted the reverend from the local Episcopal Church. Quickly, she turned her cart around.
Before long, everyone would be asking her about Sarah. Some would hesitate before speaking, painfully aware of the delicacy of the situation. Some would offer ready sympathy and support. Others, the gossips, might just be looking for any bit of information, good or bad, they could spread to others. And there would be pity.
And why not? Cindy believed that Sarah deserved to be pitied.
Cindy checked her shopping list. She still needed cat food, bread, and paper towels. On her way to the paper products, she passed the aisle containing greeting cards, magazines, wrapping paper, cheap stuffed toys, and Mylar balloons. There were cards for grandmas and grandpas. There were cards for grandchildren. Blue bears and pink bunnies, yellow flowers and happy sentiments, glitter and scrolling print.
Cindy walked on. She had always expected to be a grandmother at some point down the line—she assumed that most mothers did—but certainly not before her fortieth birthday. It seemed somehow . . . what was the word? Well, it definitely seemed odd.
In fact, to some degree, it seemed like only yesterday that she had been caring for Sarah and then Stevie as small children. She remembered how much energy it had taken, how much patience and courage it had required. She remembered the nasty colds and the bouts of fierce flu and the raging fevers; she remembered the routine bumps and scrapes; she remembered the time Stevie had broken her arm falling out of a tree; she remembered Sarah’s sprained wrist the time she had fallen off her bike. She remembered the easy times, too, the fun times, but they loomed less large at the moment.
And now there would be another small Bauer to care for and watch over. Because even though Sarah would be willing, Cindy knew that so much of the baby’s welfare would be up to her. She felt tired just thinking of what lay ahead.
Cindy wheeled her cart to the check-out counter. She had only two coupons today. She would be using a lot more coupons in the time to come. Now, she haphazardly stuffed them into her wallet where they often remained until well after their expiration date, but maybe she had better get serious about creating a filing system and carrying it with her.
The sky looked ominous as Cindy left the store. Hurriedly, she loaded the bags in the trunk of her car and slid behind the wheel. As she pulled out of her spot, she saw a teenage girl pushing a shopping cart onto which she had balanced a baby carrier. Was the baby hers? Or, maybe, it was her mother’s child or a sister’s or even an aunt’s. Maybe the girl was babysitting.
But Cindy didn’t think so. Something told her that this teenager was the baby’s mother. The girl and child disappeared through the automatic sliding doors as Cindy turned the car toward home.
How would the girl pay for her food? Was she married? Had she had to drop out of school?
That will be Sarah someday soon, Cindy thought, her lips compressed tightly, her hands gripping the steering wheel. And people would wonder what had brought that tall, skinny girl to that point of being a parent. They might wonder if the girl’s parents had abandoned her. They might shake their heads in pity or in self-righteous smugness. And there would be nothing Cindy could do about the speculation, however kind, however mean.
Chapter 25
Cordelia was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing for the umpteenth time that she could have a dog or even a cat (though she would rather have a dog, a smallish one with white fur like that unbelievably adorable one in the dog food ads). If she had a dog (or even a cat) to cuddle with right now, she just knew she wouldn’t feel so lonely. If only her mother wasn’t so insanely allergic!
Pinky, her old stuffed unicorn, would have to do. Cordelia had taken him off the shelf where he lived and brought him into bed with her. She looked at him now with fondness. His horn was a bit askew, and cuddling had permanently flattened some of his fur. She still thought he was beautiful.
And a lot easier to take care of than a baby! Everyone knew that a baby took every single moment of a mother’s attention; a baby required constant and vigilant care. Everyone else in a mother’s life fell by the wayside, at least for a while. Fathers didn’t have it quite as bad. Fathers who stuck around, that is. Not fathers like Justin Morrow. And let’s face it, Cordelia thought. Even though Justin had offered to marry Sarah, no one who knew him even a little bit could believe that he would go through with it.
Cordelia sighed. Why couldn’t everything just have stayed the way it was? Now, when she and Sarah went back to school in the fall, Sarah probably wouldn’t have the time or the money to participate in all the fun senior year activities with her. Cordelia would have to make new friends....
And how exactly would that happen? By senior year, everyone was already paired up or embedded in a tightly knit social group. Sure, Cordelia knew she was well liked, and she didn’t have any doubt that some of the other girls would probably welcome her along when they hung out at the mall or went to the movies. Which was fine, but Cordelia was not someone who could live without a best friend with whom she could share secrets and jokes and the boring little details of daily life and celebrity crushes and all the other essentials, both large and small, that best friends shared.
Cordelia sighed again. No, it just wasn’t fair.
Okay, she knew this wasn’t about her, and yet, it was to some degree about her, wasn’t it? Everything you did or said or experienced in some way affected the lives of the people close to you. It certainly wasn’t like Sarah had set about getting pregnant, but she had, and so now her parents and her sister and her best friend and even her best friend’s parents were involved whether they wanted to be or not.
Like babysitting. Cordelia supposed she would be doing her share of that, like when Sarah had to be somewhere, like at work or at the dentist. She supposed that for the first time ever she would absolutely have to act responsibly.
You couldn’t take chances with a baby. You couldn’t forget that she was in the room and use bad words in case somehow they got absorbed in her unconscious and left a negative impression. You couldn’t play your favorite music too loud when a baby was around because you might damage his hearing. You couldn’t smoke or drink alcohol (not that she did either) when a baby was in your care, for all sorts of obvious reasons. You couldn’t take a sleeping pill or a painkiller, even one prescribed by a doctor, because you might not wake up if the baby was choking to death on one of his toys.
Cordelia pushed Pinky’s horn back into place. It flopped back again. She wondered if her mother knew about Sarah yet. If she didn’t, she would soon. Maybe it wasn’t Cordelia’s news to share, but she needed to talk. Maybe her mother could help her make some sense of it all. But what could her mother say—what could anyone say?!—to make Sarah un-pregnant? And Sarah not being pregnant was the only thing that would cause the world to make sense again.
With a sigh, Cordelia got off the bed. She really had to start work on that paper for English class. It wasn’t, as her father would say, going to write itself. She reached up to put Pinky back on his shelf, but then changed her mind and set him against the pillows on her bed. She had a feeling she was going to need more of his plushy companionship in the weeks and months to come.
Chapter 26
It was very cold, well below freezing. Sarah was dressed in a thermal undershirt, a wool sweater, a parka, long johns under heavy jeans, wool socks under boots, a hat, scarf, and gloves, and still the cold had made it through such defenses and into her bones. What was exposed of her face burned, and her fingers were beginning to feel dangerously heavy and numb.
She didn’t feel the sense of peace she usually felt when she was out alone in the woods behind her house. Maybe that sense of peace was gone forever. Don’t be silly, she told herself. Don’t be so gloomy. Of course things will get better again. But only after they got much worse. At least, much more difficult than they had been.
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