by Amy Hatvany
“They don’t want me to come back.” She looked back at Kelli. “What about yours?”
“I don’t know . . .” Kelli said, trailing off. “They didn’t want to talk to me about what was going to happen. They just . . . sent me here.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed to try to keep the tears back. “I just want my baby, you know?”
“Your parents didn’t send you here so you could keep it,” Stella said. “All the girls have to give up their babies. That’s the whole point. They hide your secret from the world, and you get to go back and pretend nothing happened. It’s a win-win. Your parents aren’t embarrassed by what a little slut you were, and your life isn’t ruined before you’re eighteen.”
“I’m not a slut,” Kelli whispered. Her father’s voice lingered in her mind . . . Whore.
Stella shrugged again. “Whatever. So you loved the guy and it was all meaningful. I love my boyfriend, too, but it doesn’t mean I’m ready to be a mother.”
“Are all the girls pregnant here?” Kelli asked. Maybe they just weren’t showing, like Kelli.
“Nah. Some of them, yes. But most are just wild and their parents sent them here to stop drinking or whatever. It’s like military school for us. Only without the uniforms. Or the boys.” She yawned. “Okay, well, I’m wiped. I need to go to bed. Nice talking with you.”
“You too.” Kelli watched Stella’s laborious rise from the bed, dread gripping her as she wondered how she could stop what was going to happen. How she’d manage to keep the doctors from taking her baby away.
Grace
“I’ve totally got a handle on things,” Tanya assured me the morning after Kelli’s memorial. I’d called throughout the week to see how everything was going at the office, a little worried about being away from our clients. But so far, according to Tanya, everything seemed to be rolling along fine without me. “Stephanie came in for a few hours yesterday to organize the on-call schedule for the counselors,” Tanya said. “She also finished reviewing the files of the women getting ready to transition out of the safe houses. We’re all good.”
“You’re an angel,” I said, picturing her sitting at her desk.
Tanya snickered into the phone. “Yeah, some angel.”
“You are,” I said insistently, thinking of how she somehow juggled the demands of single motherhood and remained an ideal professional. Granted, she had a built-in caregiver in her mother, who moved from South Carolina to help take care of her two toddlers after Tanya left one of our safe houses. Having that kind of support certainly made her life infinitely more manageable. But however much I loved my own mother, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted her to live with us.
We hung up just as there was a knock on the door. I stumbled my way over from the couch and opened it to see Melody bearing a cardboard box. “Good morning! I come bearing a vat of white bean chicken chili, sausage marinara, and three freezer bags of precooked chicken breasts.”
“Oh, hello,” I said with a laugh, holding out my hand and pretending to introduce myself. “I’m not sure if you know me. I’m Grace, and I live with a man who owns a restaurant? I’m pretty sure we’re not going to starve.”
“I can’t help it,” she said. “You know I’m compulsive. Where can I put it?”
“The freezer in the garage would be great,” I said. “Thank you.”
She set her purse on the entryway table and carried the box into the garage, where I heard her open the freezer and rummage around a bit, presumably finding space for all she’d brought. I walked into the kitchen and poured us each a cup of coffee, carrying them back into the living room, where she now stood waiting for me. She gratefully accepted the mug I handed her, then looked at me sternly. “I only have an hour before my first client, but I wanted to see how you’re doing after yesterday.” She eyed the sheets and my pillow. “Still on couch duty, eh?” she said.
I nodded and took a sip of my drink, then pushed my bedding to the floor so we could sit down. “The kids need to be near him right now.” I understood this, of course, but my back was starting to get a little resentful of the arrangement. And honestly, I was a little bit lonely.
She glanced down the hallway. “They’re in bed? It’s almost nine o’clock.”
“They probably need the sleep. I think the memorial wore them out.”
“It wore me out,” Melody said as we both lowered to the couch. “And I didn’t even do anything. I can’t even imagine how they’re feeling.”
I nudged her softly with my foot. “You seemed to be having a fine time talking with Spencer.” I’d watched Melody shadow Spencer yesterday, helping him replenish the table and make sure the coffeepot was kept full; I saw them chatting, their heads leaning in toward each other. I’d recognized the smile she gave him, the smile that said, “Welcome, I’m available. Please, ask me more.”
“Who, me?” She looked at me over the top of her coffee mug and fluttered her eyelashes. I nudged her again, a little harder this time, and she laughed. “Okay, okay. I did have a good time chatting with him. I can’t believe you never introduced us before! He’s totally my type.”
I shrugged. “I guess I never made the connection. He’s so quiet and you’re so . . .”
“What?” It was her turn to nudge me. “I’m so what?”
I grinned. “Energetic?”
“Ha! That’s just a nice way to say ‘spastic.’ ” She exhaled and smiled at me. “We’re going out tonight. After he gets done at the restaurant.”
“That’s great, Mel. I’m happy for you.” I was happy for my friend, but I couldn’t help but release a tiny, dejected sigh, too.
“Okay. Then why do you sound like you want to slit your wrists?” She cringed. “Oh, wow. Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
I gave her a half smile. “No worries. I just feel like I’ve been holding my breath all week, you know?” She nodded. “I’m ready to get into some kind of routine. All this sitting around the house is making me crazy.” I missed my office; I missed my clients. I missed feeling like each moment had a purpose, that the things I did made a difference. Here, with Victor and the kids, I couldn’t gauge how much I mattered.
“Maybe you need to get back to work?” she suggested.
“Maybe. I’ve been taking care of e-mails and a few phone calls, but that’s about it.” As I spoke, Victor stumbled into the room. He wore plaid pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt and his dark hair was twisted in multiple cowlicks around his head, which usually meant he’d tossed and turned all night.
“Hey, handsome,” Melody said. “I hate to drink and run, but I have to get to the spa and prep for the day.” She stood up and walked over to Victor, landing a kiss on his cheek. “If you talk to Spencer, tell him how great I am, okay?”
“You got it.” Victor smiled at her, then walked over and sat down next to me. I fingered the empty spot on my left ring finger, feeling a twinge of sadness with the touch. Victor noticed the movement and lifted my hand up to kiss the same spot.
“All right, lovebirds,” Melody said. “Catch you later.” She waved as she headed out the door.
“Sorry,” Victor said after she was gone. He still held my hand. “I know this is rough on us.”
“I just miss you,” I said, squeezing his long fingers. “That’s all.”
He sighed. “I miss you, too. We’ll try them in their beds tonight, okay? A regular routine will be good for them, but the counselor said we just have to let them go through whatever they need to, you know. Try to accommodate where we can.”
“Of course.” I nodded, and he kissed me again, his full lips lingering on mine for a moment longer this time, the tip of his tongue brushing against mine. I groaned and pushed him. “Go away. You’re making it worse.”
He groaned, too. “Aww. You drive me crazy, woman.”
“Crazier, you mean?” I teased him.
“Ha ha,” he said. “So funny I forgot to laugh.” We both giggled at our stupid inside joke. One time I’d told him I felt silly in a dr
ess I’d picked out to wear to dinner, and he’d said, “Sillier, you mean,” with a wink. From then on, any opportunity we had to make a similar goofy jab, we took it. It felt so good to laugh with him now—to feel that spark of love and connection during what had been such a dark time.
I didn’t want to ruin it, but I suddenly thought about the yearbook I’d found in Kelli’s bedroom. We’d been so focused on the kids, I hadn’t wanted to bring it up earlier in the week. “Hey, honey?” I began, then told him about the signature-free pages, how I didn’t see any others from the rest of her high school years.
Victor listened, his eyes intent on mine. “Okay. So what are you asking, exactly?”
“Well, don’t you think it’s kind of weird that her photo albums and her yearbooks stop when she was a freshman? Especially since she said she was a cheerleader . . . right?” I paused. “Did you ever see any other yearbooks? Or pictures of her as a cheerleader?”
“No,” he said, drawing out the word. “But I don’t see how it matters. It doesn’t change anything.” His toned was clipped, as though he didn’t want to be discussing this with me.
“Of course not,” I said quickly. “I was just thinking for the kids . . . you know. For them to have a clearer picture of who their mother was. Having her other yearbooks or other photo albums during that time might be good for them. Make them feel more connected to her, you know?” I didn’t say I wanted to find out what had happened to her back then, that I wondered if it might somehow help explain how she died. Because if she did commit suicide and it was something from her past that led her down that dark road, it would mean that my getting engaged to Victor hadn’t. It would mean her dying wasn’t partially my fault.
He pondered this a moment, then leaned over to kiss me again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
I didn’t know what he meant by that, exactly, but I took it as a good sign that I hadn’t made him angry. I put my hands at the back of his neck and prolonged the kiss, teasing him a bit this time by running one hand down his smooth chest to the waistband of his sweats and slipping it under the elastic.
“Oh god,” he said, slowly pulling away. “Now you’re just playing dirty.”
“I thought you liked it when I played dirty.”
He gave a good-natured growl and finally went to the kitchen to make his own coffee. I threw myself back down on the couch, thinking of how before Kelli died, Victor and I made a point of having plenty of sex during the week when the kids were gone, so on the weekends they were with us, we could focus on them without the distraction of our raging hormones. Now I wondered how we’d ever manage to be naked together again. I knew couples with kids figured it out, but I’d heard from most of my other married girlfriends that sex went downhill after the kids arrived. I suffered a pang of guilt for even thinking of such a shallow thing considering our current circumstances—What, the kids move in and you’re not going to make love to me anymore? I realized how immature and whiny the thought sounded. Still, I couldn’t imagine losing that physical connection with Victor and was willing to put up a fight to keep it.
The kids got up a few minutes later and I showered while Victor fed them breakfast. Neither of them said very much, though Max gave me an unexpected hug as I passed him in the hallway back toward the kitchen. “Good morning,” he mumbled.
I hugged him in return, rubbing his back. I smiled at this spontaneous show of affection, a little surprised by the intense rush of tenderness that filled me.
“Hey, buddy,” I said. “Going to take a shower?” He nodded, and I continued into the kitchen, where Victor and Ava were sitting at the counter, looking through the photo albums again, and I wondered if our brief conversation earlier had inspired him to do this with her. A tear rolled down Ava’s cheek and Victor reached over to wipe it away with the edge of his thumb, then leaned over and kissed her on top of her head.
It touched me, seeing him comfort his daughter like this. Being the kind of father I’d always wished mine had been to me. It struck me that Ava and I had something in common—being forced to grow up at thirteen, well before the time that we should have had to. Me because of the birth of Sam, needing to help take care of him, and Ava because of the death of her mother. I thought about what my father might have been like if my mother had died, leaving him alone with Sam and me. I imagined the wild grief I would have felt in losing her—the one grounding force in my life, the one person I knew I could always count on—and I simply couldn’t conjure a picture of my father sitting with me as Victor sat with Ava now. I suddenly felt better than I had all week, believing that the four of us just might make a family yet.
“Hey, Ava,” I said, and she jumped a little, as though just noticing I’d entered the room. “I was thinking about going to the mall and doing a little shopping. Are you interested?” I didn’t really have a reason to shop—I just thought it was something Ava might actually want to do. Something that could momentarily distract her from her pain.
Ava shrugged. “Not really.”
Victor looked at me and mouthed the word “sorry,” and I gave him a brief nod in return, despite my ego’s suffering another quick hit. “Well,” he said. “I think I’m going to head over to your mom’s place and pick up the rest of your clothes. Grace will hang out with you guys here, okay?”
I flashed him a quick look, a little bothered that he hadn’t asked if I’d be fine with staying with them—maybe I’d want to go into the office; maybe I actually did want to go to the mall—but I swallowed the feeling as quickly as it rose up inside me. We were a team now. I had to remember that. We had to back each other up.
“I want to go with you,” Ava said, pushing her stool out from the breakfast bar, but Victor shook his head and put out a hand to stop her.
“No, honey. It’s too soon.”
“Too soon to be in my own house?” Ava said, lifting her chin. “Too soon to pick out what clothes I want to have with me?”
Victor sighed. “I’ll pack up your whole dresser and closet.”
“But I want to go to my house,” Ava said.
“This is your house now,” Victor said. “I don’t want you going back there.”
Ava’s mouth dropped open. “Not ever?”
Victor shook his head. “There’s no reason to. I’ll bring you a few boxes of your mom’s stuff, too, okay? So you can have it here?”
Ava’s face flushed scarlet and she slammed her mother’s album shut. “You just want to pretend she never existed!” she said, her voice getting louder with each word. “You’re glad she’s dead so you don’t have to deal with her!”
“Ava,” I said, trying to calm her. “I don’t think your dad feels that way at all.”
She glared at me, blue eyes flashing. “How would you know?” she snarled, and I could feel the weight of her contempt from across the room. I thought about her apology yesterday and wondered if she’d only been trying to placate me. Maybe this, right now, the way she was looking at me with utter disdain, was how she really felt.
“That’s not true and you know it,” Victor said to her, apparently choosing to ignore the way she’d just spoken to me. The edge in his voice was back. I wanted to reach out and calm him, to warn him to not go to this place with Ava so soon. I didn’t know when he’d decided against letting the kids go back to their mother’s house. He hadn’t discussed it with me. It was a little extreme, I thought, to deny her the opportunity to see it again. I wondered what he was trying to protect her from. But this wasn’t the time for me to question him, especially not in front of Ava. I looked back and forth between them, and I was struck by the similarities in their stances: back straight, shoulders back, jaw set.
“I don’t know anything anymore!” Ava said in a pitch so high it sent shivers up my spine. She pulled the album to her chest and pushed past her father, running down the hall to her bedroom. The door slammed and I gave Victor a supportive smile.
“I’m thinking that’s a sound we’ll have to get used to,” I said, h
oping I could make him laugh. Hoping we could go back to that place on the couch where we were just an hour ago. Playful, teasing, affectionate. The way we used to be. But his expression remained grim and he strode past me as Ava just had, leaving me to stand in the kitchen all alone.
Ava
The moment I walked into homeroom on Monday morning, everyone went silent. Even Mrs. Philips stared at me as I stood in the threshold, holding my backpack across my chest like it was an inflatable life vest. “Ava,” she finally said, “welcome back.”
I’d spent extra time getting ready that morning, carefully brushing and straightening my hair, applying and reapplying a little mascara and blush until I was happy with the result. I picked out my best pair of jeans and a red tank top to wear under Mama’s sweater, hoping that if I at least looked normal, everyone would assume that I was fine and leave me alone. The last thing I wanted to deal with was people telling me how sorry they were about Mama, how horrible it was that she had died. Like I needed reminding of that.
I gave Mrs. Philips a brief nod and kept my gaze glued to the wooden floor as I made my way to my desk by the window. It was too quiet. I wanted the chatter of the other kids to distract me from the thoughts that spun in my head. My dad had spent the weekend packing up Mama’s house and bringing Max and me the rest of our stuff. He even brought over a few boxes of Mama’s things—her clothes and books, mostly. He put a few boxes up in the attic, saying they were for Max and me to have later, when we grew up, then gave me a couple of boxes to go through. I let him put them in my room but shoved them into a corner after he left. I didn’t feel ready to see what was inside. My anger was barbed and bitter in my mouth. I still couldn’t believe he didn’t let me go with him. I also couldn’t believe he thought he could make me stay away.
Now, in class, I dropped my backpack to the floor, slid into my seat, and tried to focus on what Mrs. Philips was saying about next week’s quiz on balancing equations, wishing this wasn’t the one class Bree and I didn’t share. Whitney sat one row and one seat behind me; I could feel her blue eyes boring into the back of my head. I won’t look at you. I won’t.