16

Mom and Dad’s friend and dentist, Doc Martin, offered Carolyn a job as his receptionist, the last girl having quit the week Carolyn came home from San Francisco. Thelma, Doc’s wife, worked as the hygienist. Carolyn learned quickly that Thelma knew everyone’s business and didn’t mind sharing.

About a month into her job, Carolyn started to get nauseated every time she came to work. She’d always been bothered by the sounds of drills; now the scents turned her stomach. She tried to keep busy answering phone calls, calling patients to remind them of appointments, taking messages, but the smell of hot enamel sent her running for the bathroom.

Thelma tapped on the door. “Are you all right, Carolyn?”

She retched again. “I’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Martin.” Fighting the nausea, she waited a moment and hoped her stomach wouldn’t heave again. She’d already lost her eggs and toast. Nothing else remained. She rinsed her mouth, patted her face with a damp paper towel, and opened the door.

Thelma stood right outside, expression curious. “You look awfully pale.”

“I’ll be all right.” The telephone rang and she hurried to answer. Feeling woozy, she slid quickly into the office chair and picked up her pencil. She could feel Thelma’s eyes fixed on her back. She jotted another message on the pad.

By lunchtime, she felt fine. The next morning, she felt sick again, and the morning after that. She wondered if she had grown allergic to something in Doc Martin’s office. Thelma, maybe. Just being around the woman made Carolyn anxious, but the thought of having to look for another job made her even more so.

When she threw up Saturday morning, she knew it didn’t have anything to do with the scents and sounds of the dentist’s office. So what was it? Mom heard her heaving and suggested saltines and 7UP. “They’ll settle your stomach.” They did.

At church the next morning, she had to leave the service. She barely made it outside before she puked in the bushes next to the front steps. Mortified, gulping for air, she straightened and saw her mother standing on the steps above her. “I think I need to lie down in the car, Mom.”

Mom walked her to the car. “How long has this been going on, Carolyn?”

“Two weeks.”

She paled noticeably. “Every morning?”

Carolyn shrugged. “It’s probably a flu bug or something.”

“I don’t think so.” Mom looked stricken. “As if things aren’t bad enough already.” She opened the car door. “We’re going to have to talk about this later. Don’t say a word about it to anyone, not even Oma, and especially not your father. Not yet.”

Carolyn slipped into the car.

“Let’s just hope you’re not pregnant.” Mom slammed the door and headed back to church.

Carolyn fought another wave of nausea. Pregnant? Ash had used her for weeks, but that had been months ago. After him, she hadn’t wanted anyone to touch her ever again. She’d been on the pill up until she left the Clement Street house. She’d left everything behind that day, but why would she have needed birth control when she stayed clear of people, except to beg?

The young veteran sitting on the seawall the night she wanted to commit suicide. He played the guitar. He’d given her a candy bar. They’d talked. He kept her warm all night.

She understood now why Mom had that look on her face, why she looked ready to curse and cry, why she thought things were going to get worse.

Curling up on the backseat, Carolyn wept.

Dr. Griffith confirmed Mom’s suspicions. “She’s about six weeks along. I think it’d be wise to check for VD.”

Dad sat stunned at the dining room table. He looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. Pain first, then anger. He punched back. Hard. “Do you even know who fathered it?” He didn’t wait for an answer before cursing her. Mom whispered his name in an agonized voice, but he didn’t hold back. “Charlie would be ashamed to call you his sister! It’s better he’s dead so he can’t see what you’ve become.” He put his head in his hands and wept.

Charlie had died honorably, a hero deserving of a shrine. No shrine for Carolyn. She hadn’t seen a picture anywhere in the house, and she had looked. It would be worse now that she was the cause of the second-worst catastrophe a parent could suffer. “I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed in San Francisco.” She’d probably be dead by now, but maybe that would’ve been easier on everyone.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

She looked at Mom. “I didn’t know.” Not that that was any excuse. She felt the muscles tightening around her throat as though her own body tried to strangle her. The pain kept getting worse. She pushed it down the way she’d always done, but it was harder this time.

Dad scraped his chair back. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you should’ve stayed in San Francisco. Maybe you should go back!”

“Trip!” Mom’s voice cracked.

“How are we supposed to fix the mess she’s made of her life? Tell me that!”

“Trip . . .”

He glared at Carolyn. “Get out of my sight!”

Carolyn got up and headed for the front door. Mom cried out, “No!” She came after Carolyn and gripped her by the elbow. “Don’t leave. Just sit in your room for a while; let me talk to him.” Carolyn turned like an automaton, guided by her mother’s firm hand.

Closed in, curled up on her bed, pillow over her head, she could still hear them shouting.

Chel came to her in her dreams that night. She walked into the surf. When she reached waist level, she turned and held out her hand. Carolyn followed. As the sea closed over her, she found she could still breathe. She swam among the seaweed, feeling the silky strands try to catch hold. She saw the young vet at the bottom playing the guitar. Charlie sat and listened. Chel sea-danced, her red hair floating around her.

When she got up in the morning, Dad sat at the dining room table. She hesitated and stepped back. Dad glanced at her. “Sit down, Carolyn.” Steeling herself for further judgment and condemnation, Carolyn obeyed. She was only getting what she deserved.

Dad looked miserable. “We’ll figure things out.”

Mom sat down with them. “We’ll just carry on as usual. You’ll keep going to work. Dr. Griffith won’t say anything to anyone.”

“Mom is going to make a few calls, see what she can find out about homes for unwed mothers.”

It didn’t surprise Carolyn that they would want to get rid of her, but it still hurt. She had deserted them at the worst time in their lives, and now she came back and presented them with more trouble than they ever deserved. What right did she have to expect them to help her through this crisis?

“It’ll be some time before you show.” Dad could barely get the words out. “At least we can keep it secret for a while.”

Mom folded her hands on the table, knuckles white. “We don’t have to make all the decisions now.” She searched Carolyn’s face, her own troubled. “Is there anything you want to say, Carolyn?”

Instinctively, Carolyn covered her womb. Only one thing mattered to her now. “My life is completely . . .” She used a foul expression she had never heard come from either of their lips, but had heard every hour of every day in her other life. “Please don’t take it out on my baby.” She got up and fled to her room.

No one had to tell Thelma Martin the news. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. She could sniff out gossip faster than a bloodhound could catch the scent of an escaped prisoner. One of her chatty friends had been sitting in Dr. Griffith’s waiting room and saw Mom’s face before they left.

“I can see the guilt on your face. Your poor parents . . .” False sympathy oozed from her voice. “I’m so sorry about what they must be going through, Carolyn, but we can’t have you working here. Not in your—” her lips pursed—“condition. People would think we approved.” Thelma’s eyes glinted.

When the telephone rang, Carolyn didn’t answer it, but rather picked up her purse, took her sweater off the back of the chair, and headed for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Thelma demanded, loud enough for the two waiting patients to hear.

“Home.”

“Answer the telephone.”

“You just fired me. You answer it.”

“I didn’t mean you had to leave today!”

As Carolyn headed for Charlie’s red Impala, she imagined what Chel might say. Her friend would’ve known how to rock and shock Thelma enough to leave her speechless.

She drove home, hoping to get into the house and close herself in her room, where she could think, before Mom and Dad heard. Maybe she’d be safe for a few hours before the crap hit the fan. By tomorrow morning, the stench of her life would be all over town.

Oma called out to her. Carolyn wanted to pretend she didn’t hear. “Carolyn!”

She stopped and closed her eyes for a second, wondering if Oma had heard the news yet. Why not tell her? She might as well get it over with and have the last member of her immediate family hate her.

“I’m pregnant. And no, I don’t know who the father is. Mom and Dad wanted to keep it secret. Thelma figured it out. So the cat’s out of bag. I just got fired. So much for Mom and Dad saving face by dumping me in an unwed mothers’ home before the whole town knows.”

Oma said something in German.

Dropping to her knees in the gravel driveway, Carolyn sobbed. She felt the sharp pain of stones cutting into her flesh.

Oma’s strong hands pulled her tight against her. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Mom and Dad sat in silence as they heard the news. Oma told them. Having spent most of the afternoon hugging the porcelain throne, Carolyn barely managed to sit at the table. She didn’t eat, and neither did Mom and Dad after they heard Thelma Martin knew everything. Or thought she did. Carolyn kept her head down. “I’ll find another job.”

“What’s the point?” Dad threw his napkin on the table. “Who’d hire you now?”

“That’s a nice thing to say.” Oma sounded disgusted and angry.

Mom sighed heavily. “Thelma Martin is the biggest gossip in town. It’s bad luck Carolyn ended up working for them.”

Dad looked at Mom. “Have you been able to find out anything about homes?”

“I have another idea, but I need a little more time.”

Carolyn suspected she knew. She didn’t want to add an even bigger sin to all the rest she had committed. “I won’t have an abortion.”

Mom and Dad stared at her. “We wouldn’t suggest such a thing.” Mom spoke for both of them, but the guilt on their faces told Carolyn they’d already debated that solution. “Just stay home until we can sort this out.”

Oma left the table, slamming the front door as she went out.

Over the next week, Carolyn watched her parents try to live a normal life. They went to work; Carolyn stayed home. Oma invited Carolyn to ride into town with her while she ran errands, but Carolyn declined. If Mom and Dad didn’t want her showing her face, she wouldn’t.

When Sunday rolled around, they shocked her by saying they wanted her to come to church with them. “Why?” She couldn’t think of a worse idea. Thelma Martin was one of the deaconesses.

Mom looked determined. “People know what Thelma Martin is. And there are more people in that church than one nasty gossip.” Clearly, she had a point to make, and it didn’t matter how Carolyn felt. “You’re not staying home.”

People greeted them. Some gave pitying glances; others seemed embarrassed; most said nothing, just gave a nod and a faint smile. Mom led the way to the same pew they had occupied for years, six rows from the front, where they could see and hear everything. Oma told Carolyn to keep her head up. Rev. Elias stepped to the pulpit and gazed down at Carolyn, and then he looked at the rest of his congregants.

When the service ended, Carolyn just wanted to escape. Mom and Dad worked their way toward the door, where Rev. Elias stood. Carolyn saw Thelma whispering to several women. Oma stopped and glared at them.

Carolyn noticed her parents saying a quick, quiet word to Rev. Elias as they reached the door. He nodded grimly, shook Dad’s hand, and patted Mom sympathetically. Oma took Carolyn’s hand and pulled it through her arm. As they came to the door, Rev. Elias smiled at Oma, but ignored Carolyn. When he extended his hand to Oma, she ignored it and walked out the door.

“I’d like to shoot Thelma Martin.” Mom stared out the window.

Dad started the ignition. “She’s not saying anything that isn’t true.”

Mom and Dad went back to town that afternoon. Mom came home red-eyed from crying, but she was more serene than she had been in days. Dad seemed more relaxed, too. “Rev. Elias wants to talk with you, Carolyn. Monday is his day off. He said one o’clock would be convenient.”

The church door stood ajar when Carolyn arrived. She stepped into the narthex and saw Rev. Elias in his office, writing on a legal pad. Tapping lightly, she waited for permission to enter. After several minutes, he tossed his pen on the desk, sighed heavily, and looked at her. “Come in.” He sounded grim. “Sit down.” Leaning forward, he steepled his fingers. “Your parents and I talked yesterday. Did they tell you?”

“No, sir.” But she’d known, all the same.

“We had a long talk. I’ve never seen your father cry. You’ve broken their hearts. Mine, too.” He sat back in his big chair. “I wonder if you have any idea how we feel. I’ve watched you grow up. I had such hopes. They brought you to Sunday school; they brought you to youth group; they’ve done everything possible to rear their daughter as a moral, upright, responsible girl. You’ve disappointed all of us, Carolyn, everyone in the congregation.”

“I’ve disappointed myself, sir.”

“Oh, let’s not play games, shall we?” His tone hardened. “I know what goes on in Haight-Ashbury. I can imagine what you’ve been doing since you took off. ‘Doing your own thing.’ Isn’t that what you call it? And then you came back. I hoped. We all did. I thought maybe you’d repent. But then I saw you sitting in the pew with your eyes closed. You don’t like hearing the truth, do you? You don’t want to listen to the Word of God.”

“I pray—”

“Don’t lie to me. I wasn’t born yesterday.” He shook his head, mouth tight. “I confronted you. And you stared at me after that. Open defiance. I can see everything from where I stand. I can see you.”

Her body grew colder as his tone grew hotter.

“You can look like a Christian on the outside, but it’s the fruit that shows what you are.” His gaze flickered down, resting pointedly on her abdomen, then back up to stare coldly into her eyes. “You can’t hide now, can you? Everyone will know what you are.”

She didn’t think it could get worse, but he wasn’t finished.

“When your brother died, you didn’t even have the decency to come home for his funeral. You didn’t care enough to show him the honor he deserved. You wanted your own way. Now you have to live with the consequences.”

She bowed her head and cried.

“You’re sorry now.” Rev. Elias sounded weary. “You have regrets; you feel remorse. But I have yet to hear your confession. I see no evidence of repentance.”

What kind of evidence did he want? She was about to ask, but one look at his face kept her silent. She didn’t see even a hint of love or compassion in his eyes. He’d been the only pastor she’d ever known, but as she searched for Jesus in his face, she couldn’t find Him.

The wall clock tick, tick, ticked.

“Well, Carolyn? Don’t you have anything to say? Or do you think it’s all water under the bridge?”

What could she say? She had sinned, she was paying, and she’d keep paying as long as she lived.

Rev. Elias let out an impatient sigh. “Go on then. Have it your way. I’ll pray for your mother and your father, but I won’t pray for you. I’m giving you over to Satan. Let the devil sift you.”

Carolyn sat in Charlie’s Impala, gripping the steering wheel. She wanted a drink. Not just one, a whole bottle, and it didn’t matter if it was wine or whiskey. She wanted a drink so badly, she shook and broke out in a cold sweat. She wanted a joint. She wanted acid. She wanted oblivion!

The only thing that stopped her from driving to Hagstrom’s grocery store and buying booze was the child tucked beneath her heart.

When Carolyn entered the house, Mom stood in the kitchen fixing dinner; Dad stood nearby talking with her. Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Did you have your talk with Rev. Elias?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yes.”

Dad’s mouth tightened. “I hope you took everything he said to heart.”

“I have.” She’d never set foot in a church again.

Carolyn went into her bedroom and closed the door. She thought she might have some respite, but Dad tapped on her door and said to come out in the living room. They had something to tell her. She went on leaden legs.

Dad sat, hands gripping the arms of his recliner. Mom spoke, hands clasped in her lap. “We’ve found a place for you to live until the baby comes.” She looked so relieved. “Jasia Boutacoff is an old friend of mine. We went to nurses’ training together. She lives in the San Fernando Valley. I called and told her the situation. She said she’d be happy to have you come and stay with her. She’ll take good care of you, Carolyn.” She actually smiled as though things couldn’t have worked out better. “What do you think?”

Dad’s face darkened. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. It’s what’s best.”

Mom covered her anger quickly. “You’ll be much better off with Boots.”

“Boots?”

“Jasia’s nickname.”

Dad’s fingers stopped digging into the arm of his chair. “Charlie’s car is yours now. I had it registered in your name.” Dad glanced at Mom. “Boots gave you directions, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Mom took a map and short note off the side table and held them out. “She said it would be easy to find. Her telephone number is at the bottom.”

Carolyn took the map and directions in trembling fingers. They didn’t have to say any more. She understood. They couldn’t wait to get rid of her.