Hurry Home

by Roz Nay

  “She is.” I nod at my sister, who stands in the middle of the room. “She’s the one you need to chat with.”

  “Oh.” He readjusts his gaze. “Then you. The real patient! Have a seat up here on the bed. And for you—” he gestures for me to sit in an antique chair beside his desk. “I’m sorry it’s not very padded.”

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Doctors unsettle me, too. It’s their ability to find the worst things, things you didn’t know, and point them out to you.

  “Are you a friend, here for moral support?” His jowls droop.

  “I’m Ruth’s sister.”

  “Oh, great. That’s lovely. Solid family network and such. So we’re here for a checkup? Are we in the first trimester?” He seems to be speaking as if Ruth and I are one entity.

  “I’m eighteen weeks,” Ruth says as she sits on the bed. “Twenty maybe.”

  “Oh, far along. And this is your first prenatal care appointment?”

  “Yes,” she says defensively. “I was getting to it.”

  He writes notes with an expensive pen, the hairs in his nose whistling. “No, it’s very good that you’ve come in. Prenatal care is paramount, especially with first pregnancies.”

  I glance at Ruth, but she won’t catch my eye.

  “We’ll take a look in a minute and confirm your due date for you. Have you felt the baby move yet?”

  “What?” she says. “No.” Her fingers wring at the hem of her T-shirt. “Is that bad?”

  “Goodness, no! I’m not— I wasn’t … I’m sure everything’s fine. Let’s just get some facts filled in—weight, height, blood group. Could you take off your shoes, please?”

  Reluctantly Ruth slides one shoe off, then the other. The doctor places an old-fashioned bathroom scale on the floor, gestures for her to step onto it. The needle creaks back and forth as it settles on her weight.

  “Good. See? Very healthy.” He returns to his desk and scribbles in his file. “You can hop back up there, and we’ll take your blood pressure.” He wraps the cuff around her arm. “Have you been feeling quite well in your pregnancy? Any dizziness? Any funny turns?”

  “No,” she says. “None.”

  “That’s good.” He squeezes air down a rubber tube; it squeaks with every pump. “And nothing in your medical history that I need to know about? Can we get your records transferred?”

  “Transferred?” she echoes timidly.

  “Yes, it’s important to have all your medical records. Where could we obtain those from?”

  I watch as Ruth cringes. The doctor looks up from the blood-pressure dial.

  “She was living in Pittsburgh,” I say. “Did you have a doctor there, Ruth?”

  Her eyes dart from the floor to the doctor.

  “Ruth?”

  Dr. Trevalley rips the Velcro cuff from Ruth’s arm, then turns to me. “Perhaps it would be easier if you stepped outside.”

  “No, she needs me in here.” I move to her side. “Don’t you, Ruth?”

  Ruth says nothing.

  “Regardless, I’m asking you, please, to—”

  “The records are in the State Correctional Institution in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.” Ruth’s voice is a husk. “That’s where I saw a doctor last. They thought I was having a seizure, but it was just a panic attack. They sent me to the infirmary.”

  I feel like I’ve been punched. Ruth was in prison? My mind reels. Part of me wants to fold her into my arms, another part wants to slap her.

  “What did you do, Ruth?” I ask quietly.

  She covers her face with both hands and sobs once, the sound of it startling in the sheet-white surround.

  Dr. Trevalley clears his throat. “Okay, you know what? I’m going to request that you wait outside, sister. We can take it from here, thank you.”

  “Isn’t that her decision, not yours? Do you want me to go, Ruth?”

  She nods, smearing at her nose with the back of her hand.

  “We’ll come and get you if we need you. Won’t we, Ruth?” He opens the door.

  “My name is Alex,” I say as I sweep past him. “I’ll be out here, Ruth, when you’re ready.”

  It’s emptier in the waiting room now. Perfect Pregnancy has gone, taking her novel with her. I sit down again, but my feet are restless and my head hurts. The State Correctional Institution in Pittsburgh. What has she done? What else is she hiding? A thought flickers in my mind—I could always ask Sully. No, Ruth needs to tell me herself if we’re going to make this work, if I’m to help her.

  It’s another twenty minutes in the antiseptic reception area and just when the thudding in my head is all but unbearable, Ruth emerges, smudgy around the eyes but clasping a small papery printout. She hands it to me without speaking. It’s a murky image in sepia.

  “That’s my baby. There’s the head.” She points at a bulbous alien shape and smiles. “Isn’t it perfect? Dr. Trevalley says I’m further along than I thought. I’m due in the middle of September. He says I’m going to be a great mom.”

  “Really?” I pause. “That soon? Well, that’s fantastic, Ruth. Honestly. And, are you and this baby healthy?”

  “I’m fine. We’re fine. I want to get out of here.”

  “Dr. Trevalley didn’t say he needed to see you again in a few weeks or anything?”

  “Let’s just go.”

  There’s a hardness in her voice, a familiar defiance. I don’t have the strength to fight it, not here.

  We exit into bright sunlight. The heat bounces off the midday sidewalk, and instantly the fog that was pressing at my brain inside the office lifts and I can focus on what I need to do. We walked from the loft this morning, but I know that as soon as we enter the apartment, Chase will be there with his list of happy topics. We won’t get a chance to talk about what just happened, and I need answers.

  “Ruth, can we stop a minute?” I look around for a bench, but there’s only a bus shelter out front of the clinic. I pull her toward it, and she follows, gripping the printout like it’s a toy she won at the fair. We sit down on a hard plastic ledge molded into the shelter, our knees pressed tightly away from each other. Behind Ruth’s head is graffiti of a flock of white doves taking flight, like truths escaping her.

  “What happened in Pittsburgh?”

  She looks down at the concrete.

  “Chase and I welcomed you into our home,” I say. “The least you can do is tell me who we’ve let in.”

  “For fuck’s sake, I’m not a dangerous felon, Alex. I’m your sister.”

  “How do you expect me to believe that you’ve turned your life around?”

  I’m trying my best, but she’s not making it easy. Just like when we were kids and she’d lie outright to Dad and expect me to cover for her.

  She puts her hand on my knee, leaves it there, still not speaking. But the breath she takes next is tremulous.

  “It wasn’t me,” she says. “The trouble I was in—it wasn’t my fault.”

  I bite the inside of my lip and say nothing. How strange it is to have the same conversation again and again with her. It wasn’t me. That isn’t mine. I didn’t do it. Perhaps the only thing that’s changed as we’ve grown up is that the stakes got higher.

  “It was all Hal.”

  His name sends a cold spear through the very center of my throat.

  “He was mixed up in drugs—you know that already. He wasn’t a very good guy.” She pauses as if this last statement is revelatory.

  “You knew that before you left with him.”

  “I had nowhere else to go. I did what I had to. I survived. It’s no different from anything you’re doing.”

  I look at her sharply, at those stupid doves circling the darkness of her head.

  “Hal Nightingale might not have been right for me, Alex, but he was my only escape hatch.”

  “Hal Nightingale tore our family apart.”

  “We were already torn. And you know it.”

  I feel sick, like I always do when think
ing of that time. I press down the memories that threaten to emerge and try to focus on Ruth. “Why did you go to jail? What did you do?”

  “Hal got caught dealing drugs, and I was with him. Well, I was in the car sleeping.”

  “You were outside asleep in his car?” She’s always had her way with the truth. I can never be sure if the version of events I’m getting is the real one.

  “I was high. Okay—there—I said it. I was high, and I was sleeping it off. When the police hauled us in, I was groggy, but I wouldn’t tell them anything. I wouldn’t do that to Hal. But next door, he was telling them all kinds of things, blaming everything on me. I served one year. Hal got off with a warning. I thought he’d be waiting for me, but when I got out, he was gone. I never saw him again.”

  “Really? This was how long ago?”

  “Five years. That’s why I couldn’t come to Dad’s funeral. And before that, I was in the thick of my mess—I didn’t even know Mom had died. I’ll regret that forever.” A tear slips down her cheek.

  Is this the truth? It’s hard to tell. And yet despite my better judgment, I’m beginning to believe her. What possible reason could she have to lie now?

  I take her hand. It’s damp and feels wriggly.

  “I would have come to the funeral if I could,” she says. “Even though Dad hated me, I would have come home.”

  “He didn’t hate you.” We’re still holding hands. It’s the closest we’ve been in decades.

  “That’s everything I haven’t told you,” she says. “That’s all of it.” She rubs at her wrist, that tattoo on the inside of it twisting.

  Of course that’s not all of it. “What does that stand for, that arrow?” I ask.

  She glances down at the tattoo as if she’s forgotten it’s there. “Oh. It’s forward motion. Onward. Arrows never go back. I’ve tried really hard to get my life on track, Alex. I made some good choices. I did. I made some.”

  “That’s great,” I say, though I can’t shake the feeling that she’s holding back. For all the heartfelt cards she’s put down on the table, she still has a few more up her sleeve. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here now.”

  She bites her lip in that way of hers, kicks one shoe against the other. “Eli.”

  “Eli who?”

  “Eli Beck. The man I was living with in Pittsburgh.”

  “What happened?” I ask, although I already know. Ruth has a pattern with men. It’s a pathway burned in her brain.

  “I thought he was a good guy. He was nice at the start. It was a trick. We had jobs in the same community college—his was in the kitchen, mine was serving and cleaning up after the students.”

  “What did he do, Ruth?”

  “He got into dealing drugs. And I didn’t want any part of it. He hit me. Hard. Right here.” She points a shaky finger at her temple. “I had to get out of there because it wasn’t safe for my baby.”

  Why can’t you pick better guys? I want to scream at her. Didn’t you just tell me we’re predisposed to choose men like our father, and yet, you never do? But I don’t say any of that. Instead, I put my arm around her and pull her close. “Oh, Ruth, at least you got out of there. And your baby’s okay. That’s something.”

  “Yes.” Her smile is limp. “Good riddance to bad rubbish. And I’m going to be a great mom.”

  We sit quietly for a minute. There’s only one question left now. “Ruth—”

  “Yes, he is,” she says before I can finish. “Eli is the father.”

  “Does he know?” The last thing we need is an abusive drug dealer arriving at our house.

  “No. I left before he found out. He doesn’t know where I am.”

  “Good. Then you’re safe from him now.” I squeeze her arm. “Onward? Right, Ruth?”

  She breaks eye contact and fidgets on the bench beside me, lost in her own threadbare thoughts. She’s a crumpled thing, the only sign of hope for her the glossy piece of paper she grips between her fingers. I might not have given her the warmest welcome, but I’m starting to realize that she did the best thing by coming to me, by confiding in me. There are still so many ways I can help. But the first thing I need to do is take all the truth she’s handed me and hold it up hard to the light.

  RUTH

  When I came to Moses River six weeks ago, I hoped Alex and I would be able to find our way back to each other as sisters, and despite Alex’s rules, we seem to be making a start. Since the doctor’s visit, Alex has warmed up to me, leaving me notes before she tiptoes out in the morning, no doubt headed for the bakery, where Sully waits. Sometimes she meets him for breakfast, sometimes lunch. But she always meets him. I don’t say anything to Chase. I need Alex on my good side. Every day she suggests activities I could do, mostly things to get me out of the house, but at least she’s communicating. And thankfully she hasn’t brought up going back to the doctor’s. I think she disliked being there as much as I did.

  There’s a precarious trust growing between all three of us. I don’t think Alex said anything to Chase about my brushes with the law. He hasn’t mentioned it. And he has started to relax around me and doesn’t ask so many questions. Each day, I wander into town, only to reconvene with Chase on the couch in the afternoons to watch some manner of competitive cool-person sport. He provides the play-by-play while I sit there, rubbing my growing belly and pretending to pay attention. His presence is becoming comfortable. On the days that Chase is off making billboards or at a meeting at the resort, I mostly stay busy by making healthy food for myself, and I play classical music loud while I cook. Chase says it’s been proven to make babies smarter.

  My belly is humped now—there’s no disguising the fact that I’m pregnant. It was as if, after meeting with Dr. Trevalley, the whole middle section of my body relaxed and I popped right out. Days later, I felt the baby move, too—a strange, feathery feeling, like bubbles escaping into the deepest chamber of me—and it wasn’t only excitement that flooded me. Before, when I wasn’t physically that different, the notion of motherhood felt idyllic. Now, shit’s getting real. I have moments of panic, where I wonder if—in a lifetime’s catalog of bad decisions—this is the very worst of them. I won’t be good enough for this child, and there’s no going back now.

  One night when only Alex is home, I get her to feel the baby as it’s kicking. She’s working on something at her laptop, but I hurry over to her, reach for her arm.

  “What are you doing?” she says, and her arm goes rigid.

  “Showing you. Feel!” It’s like trying to grapple a joystick, but when I finally get Alex’s hand to rest on my belly, a calm comes over her face and she exhales like the world is right again.

  “Isn’t that the weirdest shit?” I say.

  “It’s not weird, Ruth; it’s amazing.” She takes her hand back.

  “No, I know, but it is a little bit weird, too. It’s like there’s an alien in there, trapped in a bag.”

  “Jesus,” she says, and she goes back to her work.

  I feel the baby move daily now, and the sensation is becoming more defined. Soon I’ll be able to see it kicking under my skin, otherworldly, my little sci-fi plotline. I always feel happy when Chase gets home again. He continues to be more thrilled about the pregnancy than anyone.

  He likes having me at the loft. He tells me that growing a baby boy takes more energy than is needed to climb to the top of Mount Everest. I don’t know how he knows this, or why he assumes I’m carrying a son, but it’s good that he’s interested. It means he’s less likely to throw me out any time soon.

  “Motherhood is the most powerful thing,” he says more than once. “Good things are coming for you, Ruth. I can totally tell.”

  “Thanks,” I say, wondering if that’s true. It’s been almost two months now and I haven’t heard anything from Pittsburgh. Maybe I really have put my past behind me. Maybe it won’t track me down.

  Beside me on the couch, Chase hesitates. “Alex and I talked about starting a family, but unfortunately
it’s not going to happen for us.”

  “Really?” I make an effort to sit up. “Why not?”

  “She’s not able to have children.”

  “She told you that?” She’s lying. She just doesn’t want to have them with you.

  “Well”—he rubs his eye—“the doctors ran tests. You didn’t know that? I guess you wouldn’t if you left when she was young.”

  “It’s so sad,” I say finally, pretending I believe it, which I don’t.

  “No, we’re fine. Don’t feel bad. And don’t say anything: she won’t want to talk about it.”

  I actually meant sad for us as sisters. We’re meant to have a sixth sense, to be force fields around each other. But Alex has pulled hers tight, using it solely to keep me out. It’s not only that I’m suspicious that she’s lied to him—it’s that I might have an inkling as to why. And I can’t say a word to Chase about that, because it’s part of the rules.

  Meanwhile, Alex places no boundaries on her own prying. She’s still trying to find out more about Eli. Is he dark-haired and dirty like Hal was? Or did you at least upgrade? I don’t tell her anything. She’ll just judge me. That much hasn’t changed. When Eli and I moved into the house on Lennox Street with a few others we’d met from various halfway houses, I knew that everyone living there made their money dishonestly. They weren’t upstanding citizens; it wasn’t a model home. But there was honor among thieves, I thought, so I took the offer of a shared room, and I ignored the fact that there were drugs around. I ignored the temptation, even if Eli didn’t. Things weren’t easy, but we were getting by. They only fell apart entirely when he got that job in the college, started watching the college crowd. There was a market to be tapped there. He smelled young money.

  I deflect as many of Alex’s questions as I can. I can’t tell her the real truth of it—how Eli set us all on a dangerous path, dragging us all down with him. I tried to stay out of Eli’s business, but he wouldn’t let me; he beat me. In the end, all I could do was run, and from there it was a one-way trip to Alex. Where else was I going to go pregnant and with a criminal record? At first, my secrecy was to protect her, but she needed me to give her something, a kernel of truth, so I did. But that’s all she’s getting. Every day my life in Pittsburgh moves further and further away from me. Done and dusted. At least that part of the story’s reliable. And Chase, Alex, and I, in spite of everything, we’re getting on okay.