by Nancy Werlin
She looked at the sink. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. And then she hiccupped.
Zach pounded her on the back. "Okay?"
"Yes." At last she could look at him, and she did, a little shyly. He looked the same as ever, Zach. Or no. No, he didn't. He actually had changed physically since the last time Lucy had taken a good, long look.
He was taller, of course. She had already realized that. And he had bigger shoulders. And a chest. She had just felt them. Been held against them.
And this was strange and new: The veins on the back of Zach's hands stood out now, and ran up his forearms, which were smooth and, well, shapely.
Lucy looked up, into the safety of Zach's familiar face. But had his cheekbones always stood out that way? Had she ever really noticed before how preposterously long his eyelashes were, or how blue his eyes? It wasn't fair that a boy—a man—had those gorgeous eyes. Those lashes. They were just a couple of shades darker than his sandy blond hair—
Lucy turned away abruptly. But not before she was suddenly aware that Zach was looking at her, too.
CHAPTER 22
"Soledad?" It was Padraig Seeley, rapping on the open door of Soledad's office at the hospital. "Have you got a minute?"
Soledad looked up from her computer, where she was figuring out the logistics for three prenatal walk-in clinics. She didn't really have a minute. But the at-work well-being of her direct reports, like Padraig Seeley, was her job too. Plus, Padraig was always such a pleasure to talk to. Funny how she only ever remembered that in his presence.
"Of course, Padraig. Come on in."
Padraig was already in, closing the door behind him. He took the chair across from Soledad's desk, yanked it back, and stretched out his long legs comfortably.
"I'm sorry to have been so scarce lately," Soledad apologized. "But I've read your email reports, and your new teen father program is going well. Is there a problem that you wanted to discuss?"
"No. I have no problems. To tell you the truth, Soledad, I'm concerned about you. I just thought I'd check that all's well."
Soledad smiled. "Oh. That's nice. Thank you. I'm fine. Everything's fine."
Padraig quirked a sympathetic eyebrow. "What about at home? Are Leo and Lucinda both all right? Did Lucinda at least have a good time at the dance? After everything that happened with that madwoman—Lucinda's birth mother—I hope so."
Normally, Soledad would have been appalled at the direct questions. She rarely talked about her personal life at work. And with the exception of her friend Jacqueline, who was reliably discreet when asked to be so, nobody at the hospital knew what had happened to Lucy on prom night.
But now, with Padraig, somehow it seemed natural that he should ask.
Yet some part of her still struggled. "Oh. It's been difficult, but I can't talk about it. It's Lucy's private business."
"Ah," said Padraig. "I see." He fixed his concerned, sympathetic gaze on Soledad.
Soledad could feel him looking at her. And looking at her. Then she found she couldn't look away from him, and that she didn't want to.
"Talk to me, Soledad," he said. "Confide in me."
"Confide?" Her voice seemed to come from outside herself. She felt fuzzy. Dreamy.
"Yes. Tell me the whole story of what happened with Lucinda on prom night. Tell me exactly how Lucinda is doing now. Tell me everything, Soledad."
Soledad said, "Yes."
CHAPTER 23
At 5:03 a.m. on the Fourth of July, Lucy got out of bed after a tense, sleepless night. She locked herself in the bathroom, leaving an anxious Pierre lying before the threshold on the other side of the door. In her hand, still wrapped in a plastic pharmacy bag, she had a home pregnancy test.
She'd bought the test furtively, three days before, but had needed time to steel herself to use it. Also, she had read the instructions and knew the test was more likely to be accurate if she waited. Hormones built up, and could be more easily registered by the test.
But she had waited long enough. It had been slightly over two weeks since she had had specific reason to believe she might be pregnant, beyond the nausea that had been bothering her for longer than that.
She read the instructions for the sixth time.
Then, hands curiously steady, Lucy performed the test, and it told her what in her bones she already knew. She had been raped five weeks ago by Gray Spencer, who was dead. And now, at seventeen years old, she was pregnant.
With the results in her hand, panic suddenly gripped Lucy. It was not about the pregnancy; it was a more irrational panic, concerning whether Zach would knock on the door of the bathroom. Clumsily she gathered up the box, the instructions, and the test device itself and scurried back to her bedroom, once more shutting out a mournful-eyed Pierre.
She knew this was ridiculous. Concealment would not be possible for very long. It was not even desirable.
She would have to tell. She would need help. Oh, God. She would need help.
Lucy discovered she was pacing. Visiting the test device to look at it. Then up and down the room again. She would wait until seven o'clock, she thought. Then, if Soledad was not already awake, she would wake her.
Then she realized that she could not wait. That she could not be alone between now and seven. That, more than anything in the world, right now, she needed her mother.
Just as she turned to leave her room, Lucy spotted Miranda's diary on her bedside table, where it had been lying undisturbed for many days now. She had not been able to bear reading it again. But simply seeing the diary made her think: Miranda needed Soledad when she was my age too. She needed her the same way I do, and for the exact same reason: She was pregnant, and scared.
How strange and coincidental was that?
CHAPTER 24
A month later, in the middle of an August heat wave that had kept Boston and its suburbs oppressed for days, Lucy was at the park with Sarah Hebert and a dozen little kids. Sarah and Lucy were teaching the kids to braid lanyards out of gimp, while trying to encourage them to keep drinking water in the heat. But the kids—none of whom were any older than nine—had been lethargic and whiney and generally uncooperative all morning. At one point, several of them refused to drink the bottled water and bossy little Rachel Sanderson led them in a chant of "Orange soda! Orange soda!"
When Lucy had, with difficulty, ended this rebellion, Rachel was quiet for only about five minutes. Then she and her sidekick Keri Baldacci started in again, this time mocking one of the younger boys.
"Okay, that's it," muttered Sarah in Lucy's ear. "She's going to cool off now for sure. I know just how to do it." Sarah jumped up with her water bottle, stalked four steps, and squirted Rachel's bare legs. A minute later, the kids and Sarah were well into a full-scale water fight, and laughing.
In retrospect, Lucy could concede that Sarah had been right: The water fight would have defused tension and made the kids good-humored again. But in the moment, all she was aware of was her own rising rage, coming out of nowhere and needing, suddenly and desperately and quite senselessly, to hit any target it could find.
"Stop it! Don't waste that water! There are places where people don't have enough water to drink!"
They didn't hear her above their own delighted screaming, and then Lucy was in the middle of the fray, chasing Sarah. She tackled her to the ground and forcibly wrested her water bottle from her while screaming into her face. "Stop it, Sarah! Stop it, stop it! You stop it now!"
She looked up to find them surrounded by all twelve openmouthed little kids.
The kids had never heard Lucy yell before, or seen her lose her temper. And it was decidedly odd to see one counselor attacking the other. Even Rachel Sanderson looked alarmed. But then she put her hands on her hips and said, "Miss Lucy? You need a time-out."
All those kids' eyes looking down at her. Sarah's eyes, astonished, looking up. The feel of Sarah's fragile wrist in her tight right-hand grip.
Lucy got up. She dusted off her kne
es. She said with dignity, "Thank you, Rachel. That's a good idea. Time-out for me." She went and sat at the picnic table beneath the willow tree at the far edge of the park, the designated "time-out" area. It was also where she and Sarah ate lunch together every noontime, after the kids went home.
Lucy stayed there, with her head down on her arms, Until the kids left as scheduled and Sarah came over, with her chin tilted dangerously. "What is up with you, Lucy? You hurt my wrist! Are you losing your mind? You know you were acting completely crazy, right?"
Lucy winced. She had a sudden flash of sympathy for Miranda, who had lost her mind somehow as a result of Lucy's birth. And now Lucy herself was pregnant and losing control. Was this—could it—
But no. She would not go there. She refused. She was just fine. Well. Except for the pregnancy.
She spoke carefully, calmly, as she began her apology. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I do have an explanation. Um, first, though, how's your wrist?"
Sarah's face softened. "Oh, no worries." She plopped herself down across from Lucy. "It's Gray, isn't it? You haven't mentioned him all summer, and I've left you alone about it because I didn't want to intrude. But I know it's got to be hard."
Lucy laced her fingers together in her lap. Every day, she had thought about all that she was not telling her friend. And every day, she had maintained her silence. She had known that she would tell Sarah what was going on at some point. She would have to, as the baby grew. She even wanted to; Sarah was her best friend and she loved her. But somehow, she hadn't. No one day, no one moment, had seemed like a good time.
Right now didn't seem like a good time either. And yet, all at once, she knew it would have to be. She took a deep breath.
Sarah had gone on talking while she dug into their backpacks and pulled out sandwiches and napkins and fruit and two more water bottles. "I know you really liked Gray. Maybe more than you even realized at the time. So, Lucy, I think that's exactly why you've got to start talking about it. Or you'll explode, like you just did." Sarah was earnest. "And what if it's not me you explode at? It doesn't matter what you say to me. I'll understand. But what if it's some teacher at school? What if it's somebody you want to write you a college recommendation?"
"I know," Lucy said. "You're right."
Sarah leaned forward confidentially. "About today. I don't think the lads will tell on you. I had a little talk with them. They loved that you took a time-out, actually. Rachel was just strutting around about that."
She held out a cheese sandwich to Lucy.
Cheese had been one of those foods these past weeks that Lucy simply couldn't stand. But then, as of yesterday, she had become ravenous for it. She polished off two sandwiches, an orange, and a full bottle of water while Sarah talked on in her Sarah way, imagining what Lucy must be feeling, and saying what it was, and reacting to it, and so on.
I'll tell her, Lucy thought. Now.
She knew from the little glances that Sarah gave her that Sarah was waiting, but was unable—because, after all, this was Sarah—to just stop talking and let Lucy find her own way.
And so, in the end, Lucy needed to interrupt. "Sarah. Sarah, listen. I'm pregnant. The doctor says I'm at eleven weeks."
Sarah was speechless for a whole minute. Then her lips moved. "Gray?"
Lucy nodded. "But it's not what you think."
Sarah was still staring. "I don't know what I think," she said finally. "Well, I guess—the thing is, I didn't have any idea about you and Gray. I thought prom night was your first real date. I didn't know you were already, well, you know."
"It was our first date," Lucy said. "Prom night."
"But…"
"He raped me," Lucy said bluntly. "That night." It was the first time she had said the word out loud to anybody except her therapist. She had not even used the word to her family, or to Zach. She had not needed to.
Using the word gave her a kind of strength, though. She explained everything to Sarah. Everything except, of course, the crazy moment she'd had when she'd thought Gray was not Gray. Nobody but Zach would ever know about that.
At the end, Sarah said slowly, "And then, when Gray drove off like that, and went into the tree …"
"That was right after."
"Oh my God," whispered Sarah. "Oh my God. And now you—you're—"
"Eleven weeks pregnant."
It was curiously like, and unlike, telling Soledad a month ago about the pregnancy. Then Lucy had not had to say a word. She had simply shown Soledad the test device. Soledad had taken it from her and examined it. And then she had pulled Lucy into her arms for a long, silent hug—which was exactly what Sarah was doing, right now.
Lucy buried her face in her friend's hair. She let herself be patted. Finally, the two girls drew back and stared into each other's faces.
"Lucy?" Sarah was frowning. "You said eleven weeks. But the prom was only nine weeks ago."
"Oh, yes. That's just because doctors count differently It's been nine weeks since conception, but the doctors count from the date of the woman's last period. So that's the pregnancy calendar I'm supposed to use." Lucy paused. "My parents know. I told them as soon as I knew for sure, which was four weeks ago."
Sarah nodded. Lucy could see her talcing it in—and coming to some conclusions, because the words four weeks ago told their own tale. Because Lucy had not said, "I was pregnant." And also because Lucy had said "Eleven weeks."
Which was pretty far along.
Sarah said, "Look. Whatever you need me to do for you, Lucy, I will. Whatever you need. Rely on me."
"Thank you." Lucy noticed, with appreciation, the questions that Sarah was tactfully not asking.
Four weeks ago Soledad had not held back. She had burst out with things that she felt had to be spoken.
"That morning-after pill you took," Soledad had said. "I guess it didn't work. I suppose that can happen. Maybe it had expired. When Padraig picked up the prescription for me, I did think the color wasn't quite right—but anyway, that's neither here nor there." She had gripped Lucy's hands the way Sarah was gripping them now. "I'm reeling, but don't worry, Lucy. We'll figure everything out. We're a family.
"First: Don't panic. It's back to the doctor with you as soon as possible. This test is probably accurate, but we'll find out for sure. When was your last period?"
But now Sarah was saying something, and it was something that Lucy had—incredibly!—not even thought of, and which Soledad and Leo had not brought up either.
Sarah said, "What about Gray's parents, Lucy? Have you told them?"
Slowly Lucy shook her head.
"I'm not saying you should," said Sarah. "That's entirely up to you. I see that. But, well, maybe?"
"It's complicated," Lucy said finally.
"I know," said Sarah. "I see that. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have mentioned them."
Lucy put her head down on the picnic table again. She closed her eyes, but then she could see Soledad's disbelieving expression. "This doesn't have to be complicated, Lucy," she had said. "Horrible luck, yes, but we can have this over—truly and safely over for you—well, except for therapy—within a week. Guaranteed."
But Lucy had had to say no to those ferocious eyes of Soledad's, those eyes that loved her.
"No, Mom. We can't just 'deal' with this. I can't have an abortion. Miranda didn't abort me, did she? I have to have the baby. I just—I can't explain; it's just how I feel. I have to go ahead. And it's my decision. That's what you've always said—it's a woman's decision and her right to choose."
The shock on Soledad's face.
"You just found out about this," Soledad had said. "You haven't had time to think. And you're not a woman, really. You're a girl."
And that had been her position—and Leo's too—in the tension-filled weeks since.
But Lucy simply didn't agree, and the last four weeks since she'd known for sure she was pregnant had not changed her mind.
There were even times when she felt in the grip of a weird exhilara
tion. She could see that there were things she ought to worry about, but it didn't seem worth actually doing the worrying. She had tried to describe this to Soledad, who had said grimly, "Hormones. You're young and strong. Mother Nature wants you to procreate."
Lucy didn't feel strong. She felt rotten most of the time. Nauseous, tired. She was depressed too, when she thought about how the gap between herself and Sarah, and her other friends, would widen as her pregnancy progressed. And as she realized how different her senior year of high school—not to mention her life afterward—would now be from what she had expected.
But still, she had never been surer of anything in her life. She could not explain. She had to have this baby. It was alive. It was her responsibility.
"Is it because Gray is dead?" Sarah asked tentatively, after Lucy explained some of this. "Does that have anything to do with your wanting the baby?"
"It has nothing to do with Gray," Lucy snapped. "It's my baby. And I want it! Well." She paused. "I don't actually want it, but at the same time, I do. I don't know, Sarah. I just feel I have to do this. I can't bear the thought of an abortion."
"I think I understand," said Sarah, who plainly did not.
Lucy raised an eyebrow.
"It's complicated, like you said," said Sarah indignantly. "Give me some credit! At least I see that. It's complicated for you."
"And it's simple at the same time," said Lucy.
"Yes," said Sarah. She hugged Lucy again, tightly.
Then she withdrew a little bit, and looked down curiously at Lucy's flat stomach. Lucy looked too. "Nothing to see," she told Sarah.
"Yet," said Sarah.
CHAPTER 25
"Zach?" said Lucy. Then: "Oh, sorry!"
She had come tentatively to the half-open door of Zach's bedroom, and found Zach bare to the waist, holding his cell phone.
Blushing, she turned to go, so Zach said quickly, "No, Lucy, come on in. I was only checking messages." He closed his cell phone and put it away. "It's just my college roommate."
