Chapter 30
Sarah sighed. She had told Cordelia she needed to be alone, but that wasn’t really the truth. She didn’t really know what she needed.
She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with the pile of gifts Justin had given her over the course of their relationship. Once she had found them charming and sweet. Now she saw them as stupid, useless little things, a collection of tacky knickknacks that were all that she had left of someone she had fooled herself into thinking was worthy of her.
Worthless trinkets. And yet, she wasn’t ready to part with them. Not yet.
Sarah picked up her cell phone and stared at the blank screen. In the last few days, she had sent Justin several texts but had gotten no response. She had called his cell phone, twice, and both times had gotten his voice mail. He had no landline, but she could, she supposed, write him a note and mail it. Assuming, of course, he wouldn’t just throw it out unread.
It might be that he wasn’t ignoring her. Maybe he was simply very busy with work, out on the boat, too far from shore for a signal to reach him. Which, of course, didn’t explain why he hadn’t gotten in touch once back on land. Stop making excuses for him, Sarah scolded herself. Just stop it.
Yesterday after school, she had been on the verge of calling his parents’ house, but in the end had felt too afraid of the cold reception she was likely to receive. She had only met Mrs. Morrow once (never Mr. Morrow), and she hadn’t struck Sarah as a particularly warm person. In fact, Mrs. Morrow had been almost rude to Sarah the time Justin had brought her by his parents’ house. She had barely looked at her, and when she and Justin were preparing to leave, Mrs. Morrow had said good-bye to her son but had ignored Sarah. Justin had not seemed to notice anything odd in his mother’s behavior. At least, he hadn’t made any excuses for her.
Is it possible, Sarah thought, picking up a stretchy pink bracelet Justin had given her only weeks before, that I might never see him again?
Sarah tossed the bracelet to the end of the bed. Anything was possible. She had learned that lesson. It was also possible that . . . Sarah frowned. Maybe she really had hurt Justin’s feelings by turning down his offer to marry her. And for that, she was sorry. But wouldn’t a responsible person, a man, not a boy, put aside his embarrassment or hurt feelings and be there for the mother of his child anyway? At least return her calls.
Sarah heard the back door open. Her mother, back from grocery shopping. Her parents, she thought, must be so very, very angry with Justin. So angry that they would confront him? The thought filled her with a terrible anxiety. They might demand he give them money. They might threaten him.
It was a ridiculous thought. It wouldn’t make any sense to seek justice from someone as—well, as immature as Justin. Her parents would know he was incapable of making any significant reparation.
Sarah shuddered. The whole situation was just so—embarrassing.
And maybe the most embarrassing part of all was that in spite of everything she missed Justin. The memories of sex with him haunted her. Being with him had been wonderful beyond words, but now she hated that she had taken so much pleasure in being in Justin’s bed. She felt dirty. She felt stupid.
Sex with someone you loved wasn’t supposed to make you feel dirty or stupid. Sex with someone you only thought you had loved, sex with someone who clearly had not loved you . . . that had proved another story entirely. Maybe it wasn’t “supposed” to make you feel anything in particular, but it did. It made you feel bad.
Sarah rubbed her eyes. She considered going for a walk, but realized she didn’t have the energy to get off the bed. For a long time, she sat staring out her bedroom window, fiddling with a glittery pencil with a pink eraser in the shape of a heart on top and seeing nothing.
Chapter 31
Adelaide and Cindy were at The Busy Bee, conducting a final check of inventory and cleaning in preparation for the shop’s reopening. The day was overcast, miserably damp, and chilly. On days like this, Adelaide thought she might never be warm again.
“Coffee is ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Adelaide handed her friend a cup of coffee, and then poured one for herself and added two sugars. Sneaky calories, her doctor called them, but Adelaide had decided she didn’t care if the calories were sneaky or overt. She liked sugar in her coffee.
“Are you all right?” she asked when she rejoined her friend.
Cindy sank onto a stool behind the counter and took a sip of coffee before answering. “As all right as I can be, given the circumstances.”
“I admire your fortitude. I have to admit I’m still in a bit of shock.”
“Me too, believe me. And I’m afraid that when the shock wears off, I won’t be able to handle the reality. All the decisions to be made. What to do about Sarah’s education. Getting the house ready for a baby. Figuring out how to pay for everything . . .”
Adelaide hesitated. She knew she would have to tread gently. “Have you and Joe talked to Sarah about an adoption?”
“A little bit,” Cindy admitted. “But she swears she doesn’t want to give up the child.”
“But don’t you think that you should talk more about it?” Adelaide pressed.
“Sarah seemed very firm in her decision.”
“But did she discuss things with anyone before coming to that decision?”
“Well, no, I guess she didn’t.” Cindy laughed grimly. “And even if she had talked to Justin about adoption, I can’t imagine he was very helpful. He tried to get her to have an abortion.”
Adelaide winced. She tried to modulate the urgency behind her words. “It’s just that bringing a baby into your family is going to upset . . . I mean, it will change everything so radically. Does Sarah realize that?”
“I don’t know what Sarah realizes at this point.” Cindy sighed deeply. “I know she’s scared. I know she’s sorry. I wish she wouldn’t, but she keeps apologizing.”
“Well, that’s understandable. Sarah’s always been a responsible girl. But you’re right. Her feeling unduly guilty at this point isn’t going to help anyone.”
“How did this happen?!” The words burst from Cindy like steam from a kettle. “I mean, how did this happen to us? I never thought that my family was any better than any other family. But I never thought that this, of all things, would happen to us. Was I being smug, Adelaide?”
“Do you mean, are you being punished for thinking you would escape a particular problem? No. And no, you aren’t capable of being smug. Look, Cindy, everyone rejects the notion of tragedy happening in her own family. If we didn’t, how could we get through the day without completely falling apart? Fear would strangle us, we’d be incapable of doing anything good or productive.”
Cindy sighed. “I suppose that’s true. But it’s a tragedy in some ways, isn’t it? I mean, the loss of my daughter’s childhood. The abrupt end of her innocence.”
Adelaide thought of herself all those years ago, alone and very much scared. “Yes,” she said. “It is a tragedy. But it could be so much worse. At least Sarah has a loving and supportive family.”
“We’ll do our best. I just hope it’s good enough.”
It will have to be good enough, Adelaide thought. Because your best was all you could possibly do.
“When are you taking Sarah to see the doctor?” she asked.
“We have an appointment tomorrow morning with an ob-gyn in Wells,” Cindy said. “I found her online. She seems to be well regarded. I just hope she doesn’t judge Sarah. The last thing Sarah needs is for someone to make her feel worse about herself than she already does.”
“Well, if this doctor doesn’t work out, you’ll take Sarah elsewhere. But I’m sure it will be fine. Sarah won’t be the first pregnant teen she’s cared for.”
“Yes,” Cindy said. “That’s probably true. It’s just—it’s just that before and beyond being ‘a pregnant teen’ Sarah is a person, a unique individual. I hope Dr. Westin and every
one else can believe that.”
Adelaide, remembering, hoped so, too.
Chapter 32
Cindy put down the book she had been trying to read. It was David McCullough’s 1776. She was dismayed to find that she remembered so little about the American Revolution from high school. Then again, maybe she hadn’t learned very much in the first place. College was where you deepened your knowledge of history and languages and science.
Now, she figured, it was even more unlikely that she would ever be able to go back to school and earn a degree. Not with the prospect of starting over with another baby. By the time he—or she—was out of the house Cindy would be in her fifties and . . .
But maybe she was being overly dramatic. First of all, the baby wasn’t hers. It was Sarah’s and who knew where she would be living when her child turned eighteen. Besides, lots of people got a late start with their education or career. And Cindy didn’t need a college degree. She just wanted one.
Cindy got up from the kitchen table and looked down at the pad of paper that sat next to the phone. On the first sheet, she had written a phone number. It was June and Matt Morrow’s number.
For the past few days, she had been sorely tempted to call June Morrow. She imagined that June might be very upset, embarrassed on behalf of her son, and wanting to talk to Cindy.
But shouldn’t she be the one to make a call? There had to be an established etiquette for such a situation. This certainly wasn’t the first time a teenage boy had gotten a teenage girl pregnant!
Cindy frowned. She really couldn’t be sure what, exactly, she hoped to accomplish by reaching out to June Morrow. She really couldn’t be sure what she wanted to offer the woman. Friendship? An olive branch? But why? Sarah had done nothing wrong.
But Cindy did know what she wanted from June Morrow. An abject apology. Still, Mrs. Morrow might not be ready or willing to offer an apology. After all, Justin was an adult. His parents had no legal control over his actions. It was Justin who should be apologizing and making amends. Offering, on the spur of the moment, to marry Sarah and then, when she wisely turned him down, disappearing from her life was almost, in Cindy’s opinion, the greatest insult he had inflicted on her daughter.
And then there was the fact that Cindy knew so very little about Justin’s mother. She had never spoken to her, just glimpsed her across the aisle at the grocery store and outside the dry cleaners in town. Sarah had met her only once and hadn’t had much of anything to say about her. Cindy had no idea of the sort of reception she might receive. It might not be a very happy one.
The heck with it, Cindy thought and picked up the receiver. And then, she put it back down. She suddenly felt irritated, almost angry. She didn’t want a relationship with Justin’s family. She didn’t want those strangers to be part of her life and the life of her daughter. But now, Cindy and Joe and June and Matt would forever share a bond—a grandchild—whether they liked it or not. It made Cindy feel a bit sick to her stomach.
Let June Morrow come to her. Or let her fall off the face of the earth and take her lousy son with her.
Cindy snatched the McCullough book off the table, walked into the living room, and stuffed it back on a shelf.
Chapter 33
“Oh! Sorry.”
Cordelia had not even seen the girl she had just stumbled into as she left French class.
“It’s okay,” the girl said, and went on chatting to her friend.
Cordelia had been walking through the day as if in a dream. How, she wondered, can all this hustle and bustle around me be real? How can everything go on just as it had—history class, gym class, study period—now that the world has been shaken so violently? It seemed that the cheering squad would still cheer; the band would still perform; the debate team would still compete, all in spite of the monumental fact that Cordelia’s best friend in the entire world was pregnant.
She wondered if Sarah was sharing this feeling of dislocation (Cordelia thought that was a pretty good way of putting it) that was dogging her every step. How could she not? It must, she thought, be like when a person dies, someone you really loved. The world just went stubbornly on in spite of the fact that you were standing right in the middle of it, in shock, screaming, “Stop! Doesn’t anybody care? Doesn’t anybody see how everything has changed?”
Cordelia spotted Sarah coming toward her down the hall and waved. Sarah nodded in return. Cordelia wondered if she were too depressed to wave.
“Hi,” she said when Sarah had drawn near. There were dark circles under her friend’s eyes; they looked like bruises.
“Hi,” Sarah said, shifting her backpack.
“You look tired.”
Sarah shrugged.
“I didn’t see you at lunch.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“But you have to eat, Sarah.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Cordelia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you tell anyone else? I mean, anyone in school?”
“No!” Sarah hissed. “Anyway, who else would I tell? You’re my only real friend.”
“Oh,” Cordelia said. “Right.” Just like Sarah was her only real friend. At least, for now. Cordelia thought it likely that once the baby came, she might have no friend at all.
Sarah glanced over her shoulder. “By the way,” she said then, “your father talked with my parents last night about how we’ll deal with it all when we have to. Like, telling my teachers. But I just can’t face anything yet.” Sarah’s face worked as if she were trying to hold back tears. “I just can’t.”
“You’ll have to be honest about it once you start to show,” Cordelia pointed out, in what she hoped was a gentle tone.
“I know that,” Sarah said irritably. “But . . . but maybe I won’t show for a long time. And it’s still going to be cold for a few more months, so if I’m wearing a sweatshirt maybe no one will notice.”
“Maybe.” Cordelia decided not to mention that Sarah would have to change for gym in front of her classmates, and what then? Would she even be allowed to take gym, being pregnant? Would it be dangerous for the baby?
God, Cordelia thought, it’s awful, all the secrecy. If Sarah were an adult, she wouldn’t have to hide. This would be a happy time—well, unless she didn’t want the baby, but still, she might be better able to handle an unplanned pregnancy if she were older and had some money of her own and a partner who had stuck around . . .
If, if, if. There was no point in fantasizing.
“So, um, have you heard from Justin?” she asked, wondering if that question too was going to irritate her friend.
“No.” Sarah spat the word as if it were a curse.
The bell rang, signaling the imminent start of the next class period.
“We’d better get to class,” Cordelia said unnecessarily.
“Yeah. Oh, I’m going to the doctor after school with my mom, so I won’t be on the bus.”
“Good luck. Tell me everything after, okay?”
Sarah shrugged. “I’m not sure what there will be to tell other than what I already know. But sure.”
Cordelia watched her walk off down the hallway, her slim shoulders hunched under the weight of her backpack and, Cordelia thought, the weight of her troubles. She had a terribly strong impulse to run after her friend and—
And what? What could she possibly do now that would make any real difference to Sarah?
Cordelia turned toward her next class. She was very afraid that no matter what people vowed to do to help, Sarah was going to be all on her own not only for the rest of the pregnancy but also for the rest of her life.
Chapter 34
The waiting room was pretty much like every other waiting room Sarah had ever been in. Prints in pastel colors hung on the walls—a seascape; a white house with a big front porch; a field of lavender. There were stacks of magazines on the side tables; in this case, Sarah noted immediately, lots of parenting magazines and not many copies of Time and none at all of Sports Illustrated. A
watercooler stood in one corner, next to a large potted plant (plastic). Bland music played softly from a sound system. A jumble of plastic toys and a handful of board books were crammed onto two low shelves, in easy reach of toddlers’ grasping hands.
The doctor, the receptionist explained, was running late.
“Doctors are always running late,” Cindy murmured, as they turned away from the desk.
They took seats next to each other. Her mother flipped through a home decorating magazine. Sarah couldn’t even pretend to pretend interest in anything but her thoughts, not even the homework that was stashed in the backpack she had brought in from the car.
She felt hugely self-conscious. Even though she wasn’t showing yet, she wondered if all of the other women in the waiting room suspected that she was the one who was pregnant. Her mom wasn’t too old to have another baby, but why would a mother bring her teenage daughter to the ob-gyn with her? It probably wasn’t unheard of, but it probably wasn’t the norm, either. But then again, Sarah thought, what do I know about anything? And maybe not one of these women cared a whit about her.
Except for that woman across the room, the one wearing a very fluffy sweater Sarah thought might be cashmere. She had definitely shot a smug look Sarah’s way. Or maybe it had been a look of pity. Either way, it made Sarah vaguely angry.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” she whispered to her mother. She didn’t really have to go—and she thought that she probably should wait in case the doctor needed a urine sample—but she just couldn’t sit there another moment longer, speculating.
There was one other person in the ladies’ room, a very pretty and very slim woman. She was dressed in a red blouse and a black skirt and black pumps.
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