Maria wakes me in the morning by shaking me hard. I crack open an eye and stare at her, half-seeing. She's fully dressed in dark blue jeans with her pea coat buttoned and a knitted green scarf wrapped around her neck. I roll onto my side and check the alarm clock. It's twelve-thirty. I never sleep this late. I'm still tired though, my eyes already drooping.
"What is it?" I croak.
"I'm going out," Maria informs me.
"Where are you going and whom are you going with?"
Maria hesitates. "The Thomas-Brewers," she answers. "Kristy and Charlie are driving me, David Michael Thomas, Karen, Andrew, and Emily Michelle to Mercer to buy another Christmas tree. Elizabeth wants one for the den. We're going to stop for lunch."
"Fine. Go," I tell her. She doesn't listen to me anyway.
Maria continues standing and staring at me. "Kristy wants to know why you're still asleep," she says.
"It's none of Kristy's business why I'm still asleep," I snap. I struggle to sit up and brush my hair out of my eyes. "Kristy isn't here, is she?" I ask.
Maria shakes her head. "No. She wanted me to invite you along though. I told her you were still sleeping. She wants to know if you're sick."
"Stop discussing my private life with Kristy Thomas, please."
Maria scowls. "I wish Kristy were my sister," she tells me. Not even angrily. Just like it's an every day fact.
"Ask her to adopt you then," I snap and lay back down. I roll over, turning my back on Maria.
Maria leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. A couple minutes later, the front door slams, too. I lay still and stare at the wall. I don't think I'll ever leave this bed again. I'll stay right here under the covers. I'll stay here until I die.
Staying in bed forever lasts for ten more minutes, then I realize I have to leave the bed and the room to use the bathroom. In the bathroom, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I look terrible. I look like a beast. I look like trash. Barefoot and pregnant trash. I sit down on the edge of the bathtub and cry some more. My life is over. It is ruined. I will never be the same Shannon again. I will never live the same life again.
I manage to stop crying long enough to shower and brush my teeth. I throw up in the toilet afterward. I don't know how I manage that. I've hardly eaten anything in days. And I know it's too soon for morning sickness. No, it's simply nerves. Nerves and fear and the realization that I am ruined. I run a hairbrush through my wet hair. I look fresh and clean. I smell fresh and clean. Like honeysuckle. I smell like honeysuckle. But on the inside, I am spoiled and rotten. On the inside, something grows inside me that I do not want.
I walk downstairs. Mom's in the kitchen at the table with her briefcase open and papers spread all across the tabletop. She doesn't acknowledge me when I enter. Maybe she doesn't notice me at all. I put two pieces of whole wheat toast in the toaster and pour a glass of apple juice. I need to start eating again. Unless…if I starve myself, will I starve the baby? Can I have a miscarriage that way? I wonder. I sip my apple juice and watch the toaster. Who could I ask? I'm not going back to that pharmacy, that's for sure. I'll ask Greer or Sally. They'll know. They seem to know everything. I know nothing at all.
I butter my toast and spread a thin layer of grape jam on each slice. I take tiny bites. It's hard to chew. It's even harder to swallow. I take a bite, chew, swallow, wash it down with juice. The routine takes my mind off things for a while. I concentrate on it and forget everything else. Bite, chew, swallow, sip. Bite, chew, swallow, sip.
When I finish, I set my plate and glass in the sink. The dishes are piling up again. Isn't Mom going to find a new cleaning lady? Am I supposed to do that, too?
I walk over to the table and rest my hand on the back of an empty chair.
I want to tell my mother.
"Mom…" I squeak.
Mom doesn't look up. "What is it, Shannon?" she replies.
I remain silent.
"Well?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to wish you a good afternoon."
"Good afternoon," Mom grunts.
I go back upstairs. I strip out of my pajamas and stand in front of the floor length mirror in only my white cotton panties. I touch my breasts. When will they begin to swell? I touch my stomach. How long before I get fat? How long can I hide it? It won't be easy in my school uniform. Mrs. Stevenson did it. But I can't go to school in bulky sweaters and coats, especially not when springtime comes. When is my baby due? August? Everyone will know long before then. I won't get to graduate with my class. Dr. Patek and the school board would never allow it.
I continue staring at myself, fingertips pressed to my skin. When I tell Wes…if I tell Wes…what will he say? He'll be mad, I think. Will he stay mad? Will he eventually forgive me? He has to if I have his baby. Our baby. He'll have to speak to me. He'll have to make an effort. He's a good man. He won't be like Sam Thomas. Wes would be a good father and he'd love our baby. And maybe…he would love me, too. I know he still does. A part of him does. Sally might be wrong. He may eventually want me again. He really did love me. We really were happy. We could have that again.
I dress in jeans and a white thermal with tiny yellow flowers. I pull a navy blue zip-up sweatshirt over it. I still look terrible. I look sad. I look like a slob. Barefoot and pregnant trash, that's all I am now. I slide on a pair of sneakers, but it doesn't make a difference. Deep down, I know what I am.
When I go back downstairs, the telephone's ringing. I duck into Dad's study to answer. I sit on the edge of the desk and pick up the receiver.
"Hello, Kilbourne residence," I answer, dully.
"Hello?" replies a female voice.
"Hello?"
There's a pause. "Kathalynn?" she finally says.
I almost giggle. No one ever calls Mom that. "No. This is Shannon," I correct her.
"Shannon!" she exclaims. "This is your aunt. Aunt Mirabelle."
I grip the receiver tight. Aunt Mirabelle? I almost slam the receiver down. What does she want? What has Maria told her about us?
"Shannon?"
"Yes. I'm here."
There's another pause. "Well…I haven't spoken to you in ages," Aunt Mirabelle says, cheerfully. It sounds a bit forced. "You're a senior now, I guess. And getting ready for college. Maria's told me all about you, of course."
I bet she has.
"What do you want?" I ask, coldly. We don't need her. We don't need another adult butting in and mucking things up.
Another pause. "Well…I was looking for Ted, actually," she says.
"He isn't here."
"Is Kathalynn home?"
"No," I lie.
"Oh…well…" Aunt Mirabelle's voice trails off. "I know it's short notice but I'd really love for you and your sisters to come out to Evanston over the holidays. It's been so long. Kate and Jen would love to see you. They're sixteen and fourteen now. And you can meet Max."
"Who's Max?"
"My stepson. He's twelve, like Maria. Didn't you know I remarried?"
"I didn't know you ever got divorced."
"Yes, yes, I did…eight years ago."
"Oh."
"I know things are strained between your parents and I, but I never wanted to not have a relationship with you girls. I tried to write and send gifts, but your parents returned them. You wouldn't believe how thrilled I was a couple months ago when Maria began calling. She seems like such a sweet, delightful girl. She'd really like to come visit and we'd be excited to have her. You and Tiffany, too."
"I don't know what Maria told you, but she lies. A lot. She has to see a psychiatrist. Dr. Kasey Petrinski. You can check her out. She specializes in disturbed children." I close my eyes. I can't believe I'm telling such lies about Maria. But I don't even know Aunt Mirabelle. I don't even remember what she looks like. And I don't know her agenda. She has an agenda. All adults do.
Aunt Mirabelle is silent a moment. "I don't believe you, Shannon," she says, softly.
"Why not? How do you know you can believe Maria? We haven't seen you in a decade!"
"Maria sounds like a very unhappy girl. She talks more about your cleaning lady and the people across the street than she does your own parents. I think there's something seriously wrong with that, Shannon. And I think there's something seriously wrong at your house. Now, I know a social worker has – "
I hang up the phone. How does Aunt Mirabelle know about the social worker? How does Maria know? I unplug the phone jack. Then I run through the house unplugging all the jacks. Aunt Mirabelle won't interfere. She has no business interfering. She doesn't know us. She doesn't know anything about us.
When I've finished with that, I go upstairs to Maria's bedroom. I have to find that journal. I search under her mattress and underneath the bed. I root through all her drawers and her backpack and her closet. I don't find the journal. Where could it be? Is it possible she carries it on her at all times? I need to know what she's writing. I need to know what she's telling Aunt Mirabelle and Mrs. Bryar and Elizabeth and everyone else.
Astrid wanders into Maria's room. She nudges me with her nose.
"Want to go for a walk?" I ask her. The fresh air will do me good. I'm feeling sick again, tight and all bound up.
I snap on Astrid's leash and call to Mom that I'm leaving. She doesn't answer. She probably doesn't hear. Astrid and I head across the street. We'll go to Edgerstone. We'll visit Greer. We're approaching Kristy's house when I see Janet's Honda in the driveway. Its trunk is lifted and the inside filled with groceries. I slow, although I should speed up. Elizabeth and Janet appear from the garage, walking side by side, laughing. What is this? Why aren't they bickering? It's like I've stepped into a parallel universe.
Elizabeth and Janet slow when they see me. They watch me as they walk around to the back of Janet's car. They each lift a grocery bag out of the trunk and hold it, waiting for me to meet them on the sidewalk.
"Hello, Shannon," Elizabeth greets me, pleasantly.
"Hello, Elizabeth. Hello, Janet," I reply, flatly.
Janet doesn't say anything. She simply frowns.
"How are you these days?" Elizabeth asks.
I can't believe she's acting so casual, as if she hasn't ruined my life. As if she isn't continuing to try to ruin my life. Her and her nosy daughter. But no, Elizabeth Brewer stands there with a grocery bag in her arms, a box of spaghetti noodles peeking out the top, and pretends she is not the breaker of teenage girls' hearts.
"I'm fine," I say, stiffly.
"That's good. We miss having you around the house. I'd really like it if you stopped by sometime for a talk. We have a lot to talk about."
"No, we don't," I reply, icily.
Elizabeth's mouth turns down. She gets that pitying look in her eyes. She reaches out to touch my shoulder, but I jerk away. I yank Astrid's leash and continue down the street. I don't turn around and Elizabeth doesn't call after me.
Greer answers the door when I ring the bell.
"Hey, Shannon," she greets me, leaning out the doorway. "How are you?" she asks a bit hesitantly.
I shrug. "Are you busy?" I ask.
Greer shakes her head. "No, no. Karl just left. We were practicing our skit for the Christmas pageant. It's this week, you know. We're really excited."
I nod. "That's good. Can we talk?"
"Yeah, let's take Astrid around back, then we'll go up to my room."
Greer and I let Astrid loose in the backyard, then enter the house through the sliding glass doors. The inside of Greer's house is gorgeously decorated for Christmas. There are three trees lined up by the front windows. All are silver and each tree has a single color of bulbs on it – green, blue, and purple. Christmas carols drift in from the kitchen along with the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Carson and Greer's older brother. They're laughing and singing along. I bite my lip and almost start to cry again.
Greer leads me up to her bedroom. It seems a long time since I've been up here. But it can't really be more than a couple months. Greer shuts and locks the door behind us. I sit down in her recliner while Greer perches on a high stool.
"So…" Greer starts.
I rock slightly in the chair and fold my hands over my stomach. I can't stop touching my stomach.
"I want to tell Wes," I blurt out.
Greer frowns. "Shannon…" she says. "I don't think that's a good idea. Shouldn't you decide what to do first? I still think you should have an abortion. You can get it done at the Stoneybrook Health Clinic. You don't need parental consent either."
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"I read it in the pamphlet in your room."
Oh. I forgot the pharmacist gave me that.
"And if you have an abortion, there's really no need to tell him," Greer says. "He'll never know. I think that's for the best. Sally's right. You're only going to make things worse for him. I know you're scared, but do you really need to pull him further into this?"
I bite my lip. I can't tell Greer all the things I'm thinking. All the things I'm hoping for.
"Wes and I need to make this decision together. It's his baby, too. It's not all my fault, you know. He's partially responsible, too."
"I know, but Shannon…you aren't going to win him back by having his baby. You're just going to screw up both your lives. I mean, if he even lives past the announcement that you're pregnant."
"I want him to know."
Greer frowns and rests her chin in her hand, propping her elbow on her knee. She gazes at me. She gazes at me like she's never seen me before.
"Take me over there."
"Okay," Greer agrees. "But we won't tell Sally."
We check with Mrs. Carson that it's all right to leave Astrid in the backyard, then we go out to the garage and climb into Greer's Miata. We don't speak during the drive. I wring my hands in my lap, wondering what I should say to Wes. I can't think of anything beyond "I'm pregnant." Is there anything else that needs to be said?
We pull into the Birch Street apartments parking lot. Wes' Volvo is still missing from its spot. I almost cry. Is he still hiding from me? Could he possibly be?
"Will you go ask his neighbor if he's been around?" I ask Greer. We're sitting in a handicapped parking spot. I can see Wes' building from here.
Greer cocks her head to the side and studies me. "All right," she finally says and turns off the engine.
"Wes' apartment is number one-thirty-seven. Try the guy upstairs. His name is Mr. Prezzioso."
"Okay," Greer says, unsurely, and climbs out of the car.
I watch her walk away. She turns around a bend and disappears from sight. I wrap my arms around myself while I wait for her return. All I want is to find Wes. All I want is for him to make everything better. Greer comes into view a couple minutes later. Her face is expressionless.
"Well?" I ask when she gets back in the car.
"That guy said Wes hasn't been around for awhile. He's not supposed to say where he went," Greer answers, turning the key in the ignition.
I can't believe it. Wes is still hiding at his parents' house! "We're going to Greenvale," I command.
"No, we're not. I am not driving you out there."
"Then I'll call him."
"You can't do this over the phone!" Greer protests.
"Yes, I can. Your mother has his parents' phone number."
Greer sucks on her bottom lip, staring at me. She stares a long time. "All right," she finally says. "It's your decision."
I nod. It is. It is my decision.
Greer and I drive back to her house. Her family is still in the kitchen. I smell cookies baking. The scent makes me ill. Greer leads me into Mrs. Carson's office and locks the door behind us. She sits at her mother's desk and begins opening drawers. Finally, she pulls out a navy and gold-colored address book. She flips through its pages.
"Here it is," she says, but when I try to look, Greer pulls the book away. "No. I'm not showing you the number. And I'm dialing."
I nod and sit down across from Greer. I fold my hands in my lap and bite my lip. I watch Greer dial.
"Hello?" she says when someone answers. "May I speak to Wesley Ellenburg?" she asks in a confident voice that does not betray her nervous expression. "This is…Ginger Carson," she says and slaps herself in the forehead. I don't think she intended to impersonate her mother. "Yes, I'll hold."
I reach for the phone and hold it to my ear. I can hardly breath. My insides turn and shake. I may throw up. I wait and wait. I bite my lip so I won't cry.
Wes finally comes on the line. "Hello? Mrs. Carson?" he says, sounding very confused.
I can't speak.
"Mrs. Carson?"
"Please don't hang up!" I cry.
There's a short pause. "Shannon?" he says, warily.
"Yes. It's me."
"How did you get this number?" he demands.
"I have to tell you something. It's very important."
"I think I'm already painfully aware of what you have to tell me," Wes replies.
Oh, dear Lord. The lice.
"That's not it."
"You need to leave me alone. I'm hanging up."
"I'm pregnant!"
Silence.
It wears on.
And on.
I hear Wes's breath on the other end. Barely there. Barely breathing.
"I don't believe you."
He hangs up.