She closed her eyes finally, not wanting to watch the passing of miles. Each one took her closer to her destination.
You know what makes a girl throw up for no reason, don't you?
"I'm not," Lauren whispered, praying that it was true.
Those cheapo home pregnancy tests were wrong all the time. Everyone knew that.
She couldn't be pregnant. It didn't matter what that little strip had shown.
"Seventh and Gallen," the driver called out as the bus rattled to a stop.
Lauren grabbed her backpack and hurried off.
The cold hit her face. Damp, freezing air wrapped around her, made her draw in a sharp breath. Unlike at home, where the air smelled of pine trees and greenery and the salty tang of the sea, here it smelled citylike, of car exhaust and trapped air.
She flipped her collar up to protect her face and checked her directions, then walked the two blocks to Chester Street.
There it was: a squat, unadorned concrete block building with a flat roof.
Planned
Parenthood
What a joke. When you broke it down, she had no business being here at all. It should be called unplanned non-parenthood.
She let out a deep breath, realizing a second too late that she'd started to cry.
Stop it.
You're not pregnant. You're just making sure.
She walked briskly up the flagstone path to the building's front door. Without daring to pause, she opened the door, went through security, and entered the waiting room.
First, she saw the women--and the girls--who had arrived before her. Not one of them looked pleased to be here. There were no men. Next she saw the dullness of it--gray walls, gray plastic chairs, industrial gray carpeting.
Lauren strode up to the front desk, where a receptionist smiled up at her.
"May I help you?" the woman asked, pulling a pen out of her bouffant hairdo.
Lauren leaned closer and whispered, "Ribido. I called about seeing a doctor."
The woman consulted paperwork. "Oh, yes. Pregnancy test."
Lauren flinched. The woman had practically screamed the word pregnancy. "Yes. That's right."
"Take a seat."
Lauren carefully avoided eye contact with anyone as she hurried to a chair and sat down. She bowed her head, let her hair fall across her face, and stared down at the backpack in her lap.
An endless wait later, a woman came into the room and called out Lauren's name.
She popped up and hurried forward. "I'm Lauren."
"Come with me," the woman said. "I'm Judy." They went into a small examining room. Judy directed Lauren to sit on the paper-covered exam table, then sat in a chair opposite her, clipboard in hand. "So, Lauren," Judy said, "you want a pregnancy test?"
"I'm sure I don't need it, but ..." She tried to smile. "Better safe than sorry." Her smile faded. She waited for Judy to point out that if Lauren had been more safe, she wouldn't be worrying about being sorry now.
"Are you sexually active?"
She felt small and much too young to be here, answering these adult questions. "Yes."
"Do you practice safe sex?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I was with David for three years before I let him ... you know ... and we've only done it without a condom once."
Judy's face was filled with a sad understanding. "It only takes once, Lauren."
"I know." Now she felt miserable and stupid as well as small. "The thing is that one time was in the first week in October. I remember because it was after the Longview game. And my period that month was right on time."
"So why are you here today?"
"My period this month is late, and ..." She couldn't say it out loud.
"And?"
"I did one of those home pregnancy tests. It showed positive. But they're wrong all the time, right?"
"They can be wrong, certainly. How heavy was last month's period?"
"Hardly noticeable. But it was there."
Judy looked at her. "Did you know that spotting can occur while you're pregnant? Sometimes it can seem like a period."
Lauren felt a chill move through her. "Oh."
"Well, let's get you tested and see where we stand."
LAUREN SHUT THE APARTMENT DOOR BEHIND HER.
Tossing her backpack onto the sofa, she headed down the hallway toward her mother's room. All the way home she'd been trying to figure what to say. Now that she was here, in their apartment that smelled of stale smoke, standing by her mother's halfway opened bedroom door, she was nowhere near an answer.
She was about to knock when she heard voices.
Perfect. He was here again.
"You remember the night we met?" he said in a gravelly, timeworn voice. All of Mom's boyfriends sounded like that, as if they'd been smoking unfiltered cigarettes since boyhood.
Still, it was a romantic question, surprisingly so. Lauren found herself leaning forward, straining to hear her mother's answer through the opening.
"Of course," Mom said. "How could I forget?"
"I told you I was in town for a few weeks. It's been a month."
"Oh." There was a surprising vulnerability in her mother's voice. "I knew that. Fun while it lasted and all that."
"Don't," he said softly.
Lauren leaned closer.
"Don't what?" Mom said.
"I'm no catch, Billie. I've done some bad shit in my life. I've hurt people. Especially the three women who've married me."
"You think I'm Mother Teresa?"
Lauren heard him cross the room. The mattress pinged beneath his weight. The headboard thumped against the wall.
"You'd be stupid to come with me when I leave town," he said.
Lauren gasped, heard her mother do the same.
"Are you asking me to come with you?" Mom asked.
"I guess I am."
"Lauren graduates in June. If you could--"
"I ain't the waitin' type, Billie."
There was a long pause, then her mother said, "It's too bad, Jake. Maybe we coulda ... I don't know. Made something."
"Yeah," he said. "Bad timing."
Lauren heard him get to his feet and walk toward the door.
She stumbled back into the living room, trying to look as if she'd just gotten home.
Jake came hurrying out of the bedroom. When he saw Lauren, he stopped. Smiled.
It was the first time Lauren had actually seen him. He was tall--maybe six foot three--with long blond hair. He was dressed in biker clothes--worn black leather pants, heavy black boots, and a concho-encrusted black leather coat. His face reminded her of the craggy mountains in the National Forest, rough and harsh. There was no softness in his face; it was all sharp angles and deep hollows. At his throat, a multicolored tattoo coiled up from the skin beneath his collar. It was a tail. Dragon or snake, probably.
If trouble had a face, this was it.
"Hey, kid," he said, nodding, already moving past her.
She watched him leave the apartment, then looked back at Mom's bedroom. She took a few steps toward the door, then paused.
Maybe this wasn't a good time.
The bedroom door cracked open. Mom came stumbling out of the room, swearing as she brushed past Lauren. "Where are my damn cigarettes?"
"On the coffee table."
"Thanks. Man, I feel like shit. Too much partying last night." Mom looked down at a pile of pizza boxes on the counter, smiling when she found her cigarettes. "You're home early. What gives?"
"I'm pregnant."
Mom looked up sharply. The cigarette dangled from her mouth, unlit. "Tell me you're kidding."
Lauren moved closer. She couldn't help herself. No matter how often she'd been disappointed in the past, she always believed--or hoped--that this time would be different, and right now she longed to be held and comforted, to be told, It's okay, honey, even though she knew it would be a lie. "I'm pregnant," she said, softer this time.
Mom slapped her across the face. Hard. They both looked stunned by the suddenness of the movement.
Lauren gasped. Her cheek stung like hell, but it was Mom who had tears in her eyes.
"Don't cry," Lauren said. "Please."
Mom stood there, staring at her, that cigarette still dangling from her mouth.
In her pink, low-rise pants and cropped white shirt, she should have looked like a teenager. Instead, she looked like a disappointed old woman. "Didn't you learn anything from me?" She leaned back against the rough stucco wall.
Lauren went to stand beside her. Their shoulders touched, but neither one reached for the other. Lauren stared dully at the messy kitchen, trying to remember what she'd even hoped her mother would say. "I need your help."
"Doing what?"
All her life Lauren had felt alone in her mother's presence, but never more than now. "I don't know."
Mom turned to her. The sadness in her makeup-smeared eyes was worse than the slap. "Get rid of it," she said tiredly. "Don't let one mistake ruin everything for you."
"Was that all I ever was? Just your mistake?"
"Look at me. Is this the life you want?"
Lauren swallowed hard, wiped her eyes. "It's a baby, not ... nothing. What if I wanted to keep it? Would you help me?"
"No."
"No? Just like that, no?"
At last her mother touched her. It was sad and soft and hardly lasted any time at all. "I paid for my mistake. I'm not paying for yours. Trust me on this. Have an abortion. Give yourself a chance in life."
ARE YOU SURE?
The question had kept Angie wide awake last night.
"Damn you, Mira," she muttered.
"What was that?" Mama said, coming up behind her. They were in Mama's kitchen at home now, making pies for Thanksgiving.
"Nothing, Mama."
"You have been muttering since you got here. I think you have something to say. Put those pecans on neatly, Angela. No one wants to eat a pie that's a mess."
"I don't know what the hell I'm doing." Angie tossed the bag of pecans on the counter and went outside. On the deck there was dew everywhere, clinging to the rails and floorboards. The lawn was as thick and soft as a layer of Christmas velvet.
She heard the sliding door open. Close.
Mama came up beside her, stood at her side, looking down at the bare rose garden. "You weren't talking about the pecans."
Angie rubbed her eyes and sighed. "I saw Conlan in Seattle."
"It's about time you tell me."
"Mira blabbed, huh?"
"Shared is the word I would use. She was worried about you. As I am."
Angie put her hands on the cold wooden railing and leaned forward. For a second, she thought she heard the ocean in the distance, then she realized that it was a jet flying overhead. She sighed, wanting to ask her mother how she'd gotten to this place in her life, a thirty-eightyear-old single, childless woman. But she knew. She'd let love slip through her fingers. "I feel lost."
"So what will you do now?"
"I don't know. Mira asked me the same thing."
"She has brilliance in her genes, that girl. And?"
"Maybe I'll call him," she said, allowing herself to think it for the first time.
"That would work. Of course, if it were me, I'd want to look in his eyes. Only then can you know."
