Giftchild

by Janci Patterson

  But telling myself that didn't stop me from worrying about the future.

  And no amount of just-friendship from Rodney would keep me from wanting to curl up and cry.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Week Seventeen

  That weekend, I barely got out of bed. Mom came in to check on me several times, but I sent her away, telling her I was tired. "That book says fatigue is normal," I told her. "So I'm just going to sleep."

  Sleep didn't help, though. Eyes open, eyes closed, asleep or awake—I just kept hearing Rodney's words echo through my mind. I think it's probably best if we go back to being just friends.

  He still loved me. I knew he did. But, like the decent guy that he was, he was trying to do the right thing and respect my parents' wishes. He was trying to be what I needed him to be, even if it wasn't what I wanted.

  The more I thought about it, though, the more impossible it seemed that we'd ever be able to work it out. It wasn't like I was going to give the baby to a stranger. The child would still be in my life, but not really in his. How long would that make my mother nervous? How long would it bother him that my brother or sister was biologically his child?

  Oh, man.

  Probably forever.

  If it did, where did that leave us? I believed him about Kara, but how long would it be before he wanted to date someone else? And then what would I be? The friend he asked for advice?

  I buried my face in my pillow, trying to shut out the noise, as if it wasn't coming from inside my own head.

  Friends or nothing. Those were my choices. I had to figure out how to be friends in a way that didn't tear us both apart. If I could do that, maybe it would prove to him that I could be trusted.

  Maybe it would convince him to change his mind.

  I curled up tighter on my bed, as if I could will myself back into the womb. This baby might have a lot of problems coming, but it didn't know about them yet.

  I wished I could be as blissfully ignorant.

  On Sunday night, Mom sat down on the foot of my bed. "That bad, huh?" she asked.

  I groaned.

  Mom shook her head. "I'd have thought you'd be moving out of the morning sickness. If it's getting worse, maybe you should see the doctor."

  I shook my head. "I'm sure it'll pass," I said. "The book said it's normal." As normal as a depressed girl who screwed over her boyfriend could be. I scrunched down on my pillow. I couldn't look like this for Rodney. I had to be happy the next time I saw him, so he'd get that I respected his wishes. I looked up at Mom. "Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"

  Mom pursed her lips. "Are you sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"

  I couldn't tell her the truth. I wasn't even supposed to be talking to Rodney. "No," I said. "I just want to sleep."

  "Okay," Mom said. "If you feel the same in the morning, I'll call you in."

  But I already knew that I would.

  Mom did call the school on Monday morning, and then she stood in my doorway, making a sympathetic face. "I'm going grocery shopping," she said. "What can I bring you?"

  I lay back on my pillow. "Corn flakes?"

  Mom smiled. "You want the kind with the frosting?"

  She knew me too well. "Yeah. But not if it'll hurt the baby."

  "I think you'll be fine," Mom said. "You're eating much better these days."

  Since my nausea had subsided, I'd been trying to eat everything Mom offered me—smoothies and whole wheat bread and all. I still couldn't stomach eggs, though. I didn't want to even think about eggs.

  "Try to take a shower before I get back, okay?" Mom said. "You'll feel better." And then she shut the door again.

  I wondered if that was a subtle hint that I smelled. I'd been lounging in the same set of pajamas for the last forty-eight hours, so I probably did.

  When I heard Mom leave the house, I dragged myself out from under the covers and into the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, at my ratty bun, and my wrinkled PJs. I turned on the shower, inhaling the steam. I ran my hand over my abdomen—my pants still fit fine, even my jeans, but my abs felt firm where they'd once been soft.

  I left my hand there, hoping for that moment you see in movies, where suddenly the baby kicks and the mother jumps, all surprised at the movement inside her. But I didn't feel anything, except the slightest twinge of a cramp in my back, no doubt from spending all weekend in bed.

  I turned, stretching my arms up to outline the slightest hint of a bump across my belly. I hadn't felt the baby move at all yet, but I had to admit I was looking forward to that part. And as I stood there, looking at the crazy thing my body was doing on behalf of my mother, I couldn't help but feel like I'd done this one little thing right.

  There was a little kid growing inside of me. A child Mom had always wanted but never got to have. Soon, Mom wouldn't have any reason to freak out anymore, and I could work on getting things with Rodney back to where they used to be.

  Things would work out. I just needed to hold on a little longer.

  I pulled off my shirt. My whole body felt achy, like I'd been still for too long. I stripped off the rest of my clothes, but as I took off my underwear, I froze.

  They were soaked through with watery red dots.

  Blood.

  More dripped down my thigh, spotting the white tile. My stomach turned. I couldn't be starting my period. I hadn't had one of those in four months.

  Miscarriage. My mom had had several. One day, she'd be fine, and then she'd start bleeding and wouldn't stop. Incompetent cervix, they called it, as if her very anatomy needed to be fired.

  I closed my eyes. Was that genetic?

  No. I'd read about this in the baby book. Spotting was normal. But how much was a spot? How many spots were okay?

  I changed into a pad and new underwear and searched for the baby book. This was probably nothing. But the number of times I had to repeat that over to myself told me I didn't believe it.

  I found the page where I'd read about spotting—the book listed the signs that meant bleeding was serious—abdominal pain, back pain, gushing blood, dizziness, fever.

  See, I thought. I'm fine.

  I'd just finish my shower and by the time I was done, the bleeding would stop. I went back in the bathroom, the mirror now fully fogged, and undressed again, stepping under the hot water. It poured through my hair, and I closed my eyes, drawing the steamy air deep into my lungs.

  Then I scrubbed my legs, washing away all traces of blood.

  It would stop. It would.

  I was rinsing the conditioner from my hair when the back pain began. It was subtle at first, just an ache deep in my spine like I might have had if I'd been standing too long in a line, or contorting too much to get a perfect shot. I held my breath, standing beneath the spray, letting the hot water hit my back where it hurt. Heat was good for cramps. My body would relax. The pain would ease.

  Except that it didn't. The next wave felt like a sharp stabbing. The pain shot up my spine.

  I stepped out of the shower, hands shaking. If I had pain or bleeding, the doctor had said, he wanted to hear about it.

  I dried my hands on a towel.

  More watery drops of blood splashed across the floor. My back throbbed. I pulled on my underwear and pad, wrapped another towel around myself, and headed for my room.

  Under a pile of notes on my desk I found the paperwork from the doctor's office, including the number I was supposed to call. With fumbling hands, I found my cell phone and dialed.

  A recording answered. "If this is a medical emergency," it said, "please call 911, or go to the nearest emergency room."

  I swallowed. Was this an emergency? That's what I was calling to ask them.

  "If you have a question for the nurse, please leave your name and number, and we will get back to you as soon as possible."

  I pinched the paper with the phone number on it between my fingers. "This is Penny Overman," I said after the beep. "I'm bleeding, and I . . . don't know if that's
a problem or not."

  I left my number and hung up.

  My back throbbed again, and I fumbled through the rest of the papers, hoping there was something more helpful in them. There, on one of the papers, was the list of miscarriage symptoms: back pain, cramping, bleeding.

  I read the words over once, twice, three times. I had two symptoms out of three. Unless the back pain counted as cramping, in which case I had all three. I collapsed onto my bed.

  If I wanted to know exactly what a miscarriage was like in all its graphic detail, I could ask Mom. But unless I wanted to terrify her, I couldn't tell her. I'd just wait for the doctor to call back. And they'd tell me it was nothing.

  I grabbed a water bottle from my nightstand—I kept them there now, because I was constantly parched. I woke up dying of thirst at least once every night. Now I sipped my water, and took deep breaths. If I had a miscarriage, did that make me exactly like Mom? Would I cry for weeks? Would I crumble to pieces?

  It only took five minutes for the phone to ring, but it felt like forty.

  "I'm calling for Penny," the nurse said.

  I fought to keep my voice from shaking. They probably got calls from panicked girls all the time. All the time. And it was probably usually nothing. "That's me."

  "Penny, this is Dr. Kauffman's nurse. How are you doing?"

  "Okay, I guess."

  "Tell me about the bleeding. How heavy is it?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Medium?"

  "Is it gushing or dripping?"

  "Dripping," I said. "Is that bad?"

  "It's probably fine," she said. "But I think we should have the doctor look at you, just to be sure. Can you come in?"

  That wasn't what I wanted to hear. If it was fine, I didn't need to be seen. "Do I have to?"

  "I think you should to be on the safe side."

  Safe. That's exactly what I wanted to be. "Okay. What time?"

  "We'll fit you in as soon as you get here. I'll let the front desk know you're coming."

  I closed my eyes. Not right now. Right now was urgent. I wanted to come in leisurely sometime in the next few days. That's what you did when you saw the doctor for probably nothing.

  "Okay," I said. "I'll see what I can do."

  Mom had gone out with the car, so I couldn't drive myself. She'd answer her cell phone if I called, but then I'd have to explain. To Mom. That the person carrying her baby was bleeding.

  I wasn't going to do that for probably nothing.

  I immediately dialed Athena. Her phone rang five times and then went to voice mail. I swore, hung up, and then dialed again.

  This time it hit voice mail after two rings.

  She was probably in class. Like everyone else in the world I knew.

  I hung up again and shook my phone. I could leave Athena a message, but then I'd have to deal with her later, after everything turned out to be all right.

  I still needed to make it to the doctor, and I needed someone to drive me. There was only one other obvious choice. But he was at school.

  Wasn't he? What if he'd decided to stay home to avoid me, the way I'd done to him? Then he might be around. He might answer his phone. I wasn't supposed to see him outside school. But this was . . . maybe not an emergency . . . but definitely an extenuating circumstance. Giving rides was totally something that friends did.

  I dialed Rodney before I could second guess myself. Again.

  The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

  And then went to voice mail.

  I swore again. He had to be at school. I put the phone down and scrunched down on my bed, which, now that I was clean, I could tell definitely smelled like unwashed Penny.

  I had to call Mom. I had to. I'd just tell her I changed my mind. I thought I should be seen by the doctor. Like, now. But it wasn't serious. Nothing serious.

  And of course, she would totally believe me.

  I cringed with my finger over the button to dial.

  And then the phone rang. I looked down at Rodney's name.

  Rodney was calling me back.

  "Hey," I said, trying to sound casual.

  "Hey," he said back. "You just called?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Aren't you at school?"

  "I just got out of first period," he said. "Didn't you?"

  I took a deep breath. "No." Casual, I thought. Like I was asking him for a ride to the store.

  In the middle of the freaking school day. "I need a favor."

  "What's that?"

  "I need you to drive me to the doctor's office."

  Rodney paused. "Right now?"

  "Yeah," I said. "Can you leave school?"

  Rodney's voice was strained. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," I said. "The doctor just wants to check some things. Can you come get me?"

  "Your mom can't take you?"

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I could lie to him, but I could already feel the cracked door of our friendship beginning to edge shut. This was a stupid idea. A terrible idea. He couldn't leave school for me. Obviously he couldn't. His parents would find out. My parents would find out. "Never mind," I said. "Sorry to bother you."

  I heard a loud bang on Rodney's end, like a door shutting. "This is serious."

  "I don't know," I said. "I mean, no. It's fine. I don't want to worry anyone." I cringed. Anyone but him, apparently.

  "I'm on my way," Rodney said.

  "No," I said. "You don't have to—" But Rodney had already hung up the phone.

  The drive from school to my house should have been fifteen minutes, if no one stopped him on his way to the parking lot. Instead, it took him five.

  "I'm not dying," I said as I opened the door. And, as if to make a liar out of me, my tail bone ached viciously.

  "Right," Rodney said. "But you need to go to the doctor badly enough that you called me out of school."

  I bit my lower lip, hard.

  Rodney steered me toward the car. He'd left it running. He opened the passenger door for me and then ran around the car to climb in the other side.

  As he backed out of the driveway, he glanced at me. "Is your mother going to meet you there?"

  "Um." Hadn't I told him that I didn't call her? Probably not. I'd probably dodged the issue. I chewed my lip. Why couldn't I stop lying to him?

  "Um?" Rodney said. "You didn't call her?"

  I floundered for an explanation. "I didn't want to worry her." That, at least, was the truth.

  Rodney's mouth dropped open. "She doesn't know you called me? Because I'm not even supposed to be with you."

  I smashed my palm into my forehead. "I won't tell her, okay?"

  "She's your mother," he said. "She's going to ask how you got to the hospital."

  I shivered. "The doctor," I said. "Not the same."

  Rodney rolled his eyes. "Penny," he said. "This is really messed up."

  I slumped in my seat. He was right. Of course I had to tell her. But if Rodney insisted that he was just my friend, that wasn't a commitment, right? It wouldn't interfere with her adoption. It ought to be okay for us to be just friends. "I'll tell her," I said quietly. "Once I'm sure I'm okay."

  Rodney raised his eyebrows at me. "And if you're not?"

  I took a deep breath. "I'm sure I am. Don't argue with a pregnant woman. She has intuition." Though, if that was true, I was pretty sure my intuition receptors were entirely clogged.

  I gave Rodney directions to the doctor's office. He drove like a maniac, and I was half convinced we were going to crash into a pole and die.

  At least then I wouldn't have to talk to my mother.

  We arrived at the doctor's office, and I climbed out of the car, moving with purpose so that Rodney couldn't come over and try to help me.

  "Thanks," I said without looking at him. "That was really nice of you."

  Rodney climbed out of the car, following me inside.

  "You could go back to school," I said. "Then you'll just get marked tardy in one class and it won't be a big deal and your parents w
on't—"

  "Penny." Rodney put his hand on my arm, which had apparently been violently shaking.

  Crap. I should be putting up a brave front for him. I should be making him believe that he was okay to go.

  "I'll stay in the waiting room," he said. "At least until your mom gets here."

  I stared straight ahead. Until Mom got here. And saw him in the waiting room. And totally murdered me, birth mom or not.

  "You don't have to," I said.

  Rodney rolled his eyes. "Obviously," he said. And he took me by the arm and guided me into the office, as if I couldn't walk in on my own.

  I would have argued more, except that I wasn't actually sure that I could have.

  "Thanks," I said.

  "Sure," Rodney said. "Of course."

  But I could tell from his tone that he was as unsure of all this as I was.

  There was no of course in a situation like ours.

  In the doctor's office, Rodney took the seat as near to the door as possible.

  It wasn't fair of me to leave him here like that for long. I pulled out my phone. "I'll text my mom," I said. That was clearly what I should have done to begin with. I sent her one line: I'm okay, but at the doctor's. Meet me here?

  But, like a coward, I still turned off my phone so I wouldn't have to see her reaction.

  When I approached the receptionist's desk, I expected to be asked to take a seat. But instead, the nurse came right out and ushered me into a room they had waiting for me.

  Now more than just my hands were shaking. If they really wanted me to think that this was no big deal, they should have let me wait for twenty minutes, at least.

  The nurse did take the time to check my pulse and blood pressure. I told myself that meant they weren't really in a rush—they probably wouldn't do that if they thought I was going to have to go into immediate surgery or something.

  But then a worse thought cut through, one I wished I hadn't thought of at all: if miscarriage was a thing that could be fixed by surgery, Mom would have been under that knife. If I was miscarrying, there was nothing they'd be able to do.

  I clutched the edge of the exam table while the blood pressure cuff tightened around my arm. Mom had been caught in a whirlpool of grief for years. I'd been trying to reach for her, to save her. But what if in doing so, all I'd done was caused myself to fall in?