She wasn’t a girl anymore. Just a few months ago Mr. Valkema had invited her and Frannie to join the adults in the card game. Sally had held the cards reverently, fanning them out the way she saw the others do. She had listened patiently as Mr. Valkema tried to explain trumping and bidding, but it was just so boring, and, with a single, flickering look at Frannie, the two of them had given up and rushed upstairs, laughing Gawd! Flopping dramatically on the bed. If that was what grownups called fun. Well, no thanks!
Only later would Sally remember sitting at that table and realize the honor of being invited. The Valkemas had seen it first, before she’d seen it herself. She was growing up. Speeding along in Voss’ Galaxie 500, in this separate and alien universe, she recalled something else: Mr. Valkema saying to Mrs. Dorn is that a new hairstyle, Regina? Mrs. Dorn blushing and giggling like a girl, her fingertips brushing her bangs. Sally saw it now. They were only people. People who had known each other since grade school and still thought of one another as the child, then the teenager, each of them had been. Bald spots, hanging jowls, burgeoning waists —those didn’t cloud the truth: no one really changes.
She understood, too, that being grown-up isn’t who you are. It’s what you do. That’s why her mother couldn’t come to Grand Rapids with her. This was one of those grown-up moments when you can’t hold mommy’s hand. It has to be hard.
“You know…” Voss said tentatively. “What you just asked. Well. I once knew a woman who became pregnant, and she was so afraid to have the baby that she tried to end the pregnancy herself, with a knitting needle.”
Sally was listening to the faint, rhythmic thwacking sound of the tires on the highway. It was so soothing. She wished he would be quiet. “Hmmm,” she said.
“Imagine that,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Vibrations were rising from the pavement, up through her legs and into her hollow belly.
“Imagine it,” he repeated, fervently, so that she realized he wasn’t being rhetorical.
“I’d rather not.” Then, in spite of herself, “What happened?”
She saw him swallow.
“What would you say if I told you that the woman was your mother? The baby was you.”
Sally went on looking at his Adam’s apple. It was like a large walnut stuck in his throat, bobbing about. Watching it, she thought she might gag. She put her hand over her mouth.
“Do you see?”
“Don’t speak to me,” she said sharply. She understood now that she had to protect herself from these people, these reckless, childish people masquerading as adults. As parents. She felt ferocious, like a mother bear protecting her cub. But she wasn’t protecting her baby. She was only protecting the part of herself that still believed she could get through this. She had to get through this!
“You asked why I’m doing this,” he said defensively, his expression open and wounded.
She shook her head and groaned softly. She couldn’t take one more word! Her mother loved her. Before she’d ever seen Sally’s face, or held her in her arms, she’d loved her. That was the kind of woman she was.
But oh, the clarity! Sally could see how her mother would feel, pregnant with an unwanted child. She knew the desperation. She felt its stranglehold on her even now, tightening by the second. Still, to pick up something sharp, and put it there. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the thought of it.
“What else you got?” she said, her heart pounding fearfully. He was no different than a bully on a playground. The only way to end this was to push back. “Come on! Get it all off your chest.”
His voice was so low, he might have been talking to himself. “I drove her to it. And then I hated her for it. Part of me hated you too, I guess. And another part…” he stopped and grimaced. “….didn’t.”
There was a long pause.
“Do you see?” he said again.
But the question of her mother’s love for her was a black hole Sally was falling through. Dizzy and confused, she only knew that when the pain of it hit her, she’d die. She held fast to her knees and felt them shaking. It’s not so bad, she told herself. Not so bad. It didn’t change her situation, or stop her from straightening her own life out. Once this was finished she could walk away from her mistakes. Like her mother had tried to. Like Richard did. And now Voss. Yes, just like them, said some internal voice, weighted with disapproval. She felt her jaw clench. So what? Why not me, too!
Voss put a hand on her arm. “Sally, you shouldn’t have lived. But you did. And you’re all the more precious to Prudy because of it.”
“Precious?” She was incredulous.
“That’s how she feels!”
The word conjured all things baby: knit booties, downy soft sleepers, crocheted caps, plush stuffed puppies. Aside from the day Prudy took Sally to see Dr. Maas, Sally hadn’t allowed herself to think about a real baby. Now, images flashed before her like a giant accordion-folded photo sleeve flipping open. Prudy holding a baby, her lips pursed against chubby infant cheeks. (Was it Sally or Lenny or Nell? They had all looked the same. The same!) Lenny holding the tiny pigtail he’d cut from Sally’s head, defiantly staking his claim as big brother. Nell, five years old, smiling shyly, with baby Sally cradled stiffly in her arms. There was comfort remembering, comfort Sally didn’t deserve. Or want. Not now, when it was too late for her. She’d made up her mind.
“I don’t understand!” she cried. “Are you telling me to reconsider?”
“No! I’m saying your mother doesn’t judge you. And neither do I.”
“But you do! You always have!”
“I was wrong! Haven’t I said that?”
She stared at him. “No! Never!”
He looked flustered. His hands began massaging the steering wheel, and his words, when they finally came, were choked. “All anybody wants is to get the Lord’s attention. We try to do what’s right. When that doesn’t work, we screw up. Just to test him, I suppose. I don’t know why. I really don’t.”
What did he mean? Was she making a mistake? Or fixing one? She searched his face but it was twisted as he fought against something. Only the tremor in his chin told her. Not only did he not know anything about her, he didn’t know anything period.
And yet. Sally was suddenly and inexplicably grateful. He was trying to tell her something, however bumbled and impossible to understand. He was letting her see his uncertainty, his confusion. For the first time, looking at him, she saw herself.
“You sound sort of like a real person,” she said, begrudgingly. “For once.”
His laugh of relief filled the car, startling her. He swiped a finger under one eye and said, “Sally, I am truly glad to know you.”
He shook her hand then, and his touch made her wonder, fleetingly, what other discoveries might be made. She hesitated, wistful. If only he weren’t so… Oh, he was just so stiff and flat, like a face on a milk carton! One of those missing persons you stare at every morning until you can picture every feature inside your eyelids, so familiar that you come to believe it’s someone you know. But, really, are those people ever found?
They exited the highway and merged into slow moving downtown traffic.
“Here we are,” he said, a moment later. “I’m dropping you at the Carmichael hotel. A car will come for you.”
She stared at the building before them, a stately red brick affair, with smooth white columns and a gold-edged revolving door that shone in the late day sun.
“I’m going alone?”
“There will be other girls. You’ll all go together.”
“But why can’t you drive me? I thought—” That he’d be waiting just outside the door while she did this. Providing moral support. Immediately she saw the joke there.
“This is the way it’s done. The less you know, the better.”
“That sounds so ominous! Am I going to be arrested?”
“Try to relax. It’s very safe.”
Somehow she knew, hearing him say that, that it was no
t at all safe. She was breaking the law. And putting her life in a stranger’s hands. She could die. She could bleed to death and she would have no idea where she was. She drew a deep, shaky breath. She wanted her mother! Just to lay her head on that sloping valley between her mother’s neck and breast, her arms about Prudy’s soft waist, just to feel safe. Would she ever have that again?
“You have the envelope?” he asked.
She felt for her purse, nodding. The car door opened and a man in a burgundy uniform offered his hand.
“Go on,” the pastor said gently. “I’ll see you later.”
She took the gloved hand and stepped out.
“Good evening, miss. Lovely night, isn’t it?”
Surprised, she looked around. She hadn’t noticed, but yes, the sky was awash with a pink, pearly light, like the underbelly of a seashell. The air was humming with the sounds of insects and birds and cars and the conservations of passers-by. So much life!
She watched the pastor’s Ford pull away and willed herself to climb the steps and push her way inside. Beside the revolving door stood a gray-haired woman who smiled at her.
“Right over there please.” She pointed to a group of girls standing awkwardly in the lobby and Sally joined them with slow, self-conscious steps. There were five of them, plus Sally made six. Nobody acknowledged her, and she said nothing, though they all stole glances at one another. First she noticed their dresses, each a solid color, like hers. Vivid red, pale lilac, buttery soft yellow, a sea foam green, and one truly awful orange. The girl in red was fresh-faced and pretty. She had pierced ears and wore tiny diamond chip earrings. Wealthy. The yellow girl was enormously large, with ankles that bulged over the backs of her pumps. Miss Lilac had a lovely, soft-flowing dress, though she was angular and rough-looking and kept tossing her black hair so strenuously that Sally wondered if it was a nervous tick. The girl in green was another beauty, the porcelain, fragile kind, and she was chewing gum with teeny rabbit chews. Orange disaster would have been the most ordinary of all, except that she had heavily penciled eyebrows punctuating her face. What a statement they made, though Sally just knew she had not drawn them on herself. Here! they said. Be pretty. Be normal. This girl didn’t stop looking at the floor and Sally was disappointed. She wanted to catch her eye, but maybe that wasn’t done.
They stood for what seemed an eternity, pretending to admire the paintings on the walls and the thick Oriental rugs, swaying slightly to the sound of piano and violins, a perky waltz that emanated from the very walls, when the girl in red startled the group with a dramatic sigh. Throwing her arms up, she said, “I wish we could dance.” She looked at each of them expectantly, awaiting a reaction.
“What?” she said, wide-eyed. “It’s supposed to be a party. Remember?”
“Shut up,” Sally said in a low voice.
Miss Red scowled and elbowed the large girl beside her. “What’s with her?”
When this got no response, she whispered loudly, “It’s called acting.” Her face fell into a pout. “I’m going to be an actress.”
Sally looked at the orange girl and saw a tear slip down her cheek. She sighed and turned away, wondering how long they would have to wait. She had to go to the bathroom. Then, thankfully, the woman was rushing toward them, beckoning wildly.
“Come now! The cars are here!”
They were loaded three girls to a car and Sally’s stomach lurched again. She was so sick of riding in cars! Cars were supposed to mean freedom and fun, but she knew that, for the rest of her life, every time she rode in a car she’d feel nauseated and trapped. And when the driver, a large-nosed, faintly attractive young man, turned and held up three blue bandanas, saying “Cover your eyes, please. It’s a very short drive,” she wondered what would happen if she began to scream.
“Give ‘em here,” said the dark, bony girl, who was sitting in the middle. She tied one around Sea Foam Green’s eyes, then put Sally’s on quickly. Sally tried to thank her but her mouth was too dry to speak. A moment later the girl took Sally’s hand and squeezed it hard. They rode that way, holding hands, never speaking a word, until the driver told them they could look.
The car was slowing before a large Victorian house. They were hurried out and up the steps so quickly Sally became dizzy. A foyer, a coat rack, a gray tweed overcoat, a woman’s khaki blazer. Colorful medals in a framed box on the wall. Flowers on a table. A parlor with a gargantuan fireplace made of stone, a deer head mounted beside. A woman, with gray hair like the first, greeting them in a strange voice. British? A table in one corner covered with refreshments.
“Weak herbal tea,” the woman said. “Fruit juices. For after. Cookies and biscuits and sweets.” She turned and smiled gently. “Piece of cake.”
Sally stared at her dumbly, not sure if she was referring to the procedure or the dessert tray. It was all so strange! She hadn’t expected these grandmothers, if that’s what they were. She tried to get a closer look. Maybe they were wearing wigs. Under cover, just like Julie on The Mod Squad! But no one else seemed worried about being thrown against the wall and slapped with handcuffs. Girls were sitting on the couch, reading magazines, or chatting quietly with one another. Several stood in line at the refreshment table and waited to be handed a cup of tea. Slowly, moving as if through water, she joined them. She didn’t want the tea, but it would ease the wait.
Soon a nurse in a white dress and white cap appeared and called, “Miss Periwinkle, please.” And on it went this way, more nurses coming at intervals to pull another color from the room. Each time a different girl was called, Sally’s knees went weak with relief. She still had time! She could find a phone if she had to. Call a cab. Ride anywhere, away from here, and jump out at a light before the driver discovered she couldn’t pay. It was the same feeling she’d had at the Stuckey’s, when Cash ditched her.
“Miss Magenta?”
Sally smiled, suddenly calm. This was it. Her way out. She’d been thinking of it the wrong way. She was lucky to even be here. Lucky to have family willing to pay for this. And these people, why, they were so friendly, so helpful! They were performing a lifesaving service.
She followed her nurse down a wide, carpeted hallway to a back bedroom. Inside was a hospital bed covered in a white sheet, and some metal trays beside. So professional. You might say elegant. On the windows hung beautiful blue velvet curtains, thick and plush, with gold tassels along the top. There was even velvety wallpaper that looked soft to the touch.
Really very lucky!
“You can change in there,” the nurse said, motioning toward a large closet. “Everything off and leave the gown open to the front.”
Sally stepped into the largest closet she’d ever seen, big enough to fit the entire Young Miss collection from Steketees, with built-in shelves for shoes, and hanging rods on every side filled with pink padded hangers. She took her dress off and hung it carefully, then put on the gown.
“Come on,” said the nurse, and Sally could hear impatience in her voice, but she froze. The closet was safe and warm and reminded her of the forts she used to make from sheets when she was a kid. She wanted to crawl into the corner and pretend she lived here.
She couldn’t go through with this.
She could. She would.
She managed to climb onto the table, feeling the white paper crinkle beneath her bare bottom. It was comical, in a way. She was sitting on a giant paper napkin and she was very naked. And there was a bright light hanging over the table that would soon be pointed right at her like a stage light. Drumroll….Introducing…. It would shine on her most private parts while a strange man examined her and touched her and —oh!
“I’m going to be sick,” she said.
“That’s right,” said the nurse in a soothing voice, handing her a bucket. Sally put her head in it. Nothing came up, but her mouth would not stop salivating.
When she was able, she put the bucket down and lay back. The nurse covered her with another white paper sheet.
“The drapes are nice,” Sally said, as a distraction. She looked at them a moment longer, noticing how they blocked out every particle of light.
“They seem a little out of place,” she added. Cloak and dagger came to mind. The cloak was on her and the dagger was hiding beneath the white cloth on the table beside her.
“I suppose so,” said the nurse. “I never thought about it before.”
Never thought about it? So it was possible to work in a place like this, performing one abortion after another, and not question every detail? To not ask who pays the mortgage? Who buys the cookies? What if the doctor is arrested? Or I am? Should I pray for these girls’ souls? For my own? To think only hmmm, wonder if Meijer still has those pork chops on sale.
“What’s your name?” Sally asked, curious about this sort of person, and wondering how she might become one.
“Beth Anne.”
Sally stifled a groan. She disliked people with two names. Like Patty Ann. And a girl called Mary Paige who was Lenny’s age and used to call him on the phone, treating Sally like she was so dumb if she answered the telephone.
“Does the doctor live here?” Sally asked.
Beth Anne gave her one of those patient, tight-lipped looks. “Hon, let’s just get you comfortable.”
Hon? Sally hated that too.
“What’s his name?”
“You can call him doctor.”
Beth Anne didn’t get it. Sally didn’t want to call him anything. She only wanted to know if he was a Michael or a Thomas or a David. She liked Paul. It was solid but sensitive. She hoped he was a Paul.
With a tap on Sally’s legs, Beth Anne directed her to put them into the stirrups. The simple act of lifting and bending made something in her unhinge. Her heart pounded fearfully and she gripped the edge of the bed. Closing her eyes, she turned her head to and fro. She felt feverish, overcome by a painful, bruising wish to go back in time, before she mailed that letter. Before she climbed into Cash’s car.
Hello Loved Ones Page 33