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There are tears in the morning when I get ready to drive away, half of a pumpkin pie sitting in a Tupperware container on the passenger-side seat. I do not share with them where I am going or what is coming next, just that I have some things to take care of and would be out of the area for a while. I think Barb, knowing more of the story than the rest, suspects that I have my own demons to conquer, so she nods with understanding. Will accepts that there are things a man is best off not knowing and simply nods to be part of the crowd. I tuck this stretch of twenty-four hours into a safe corner in my heart and mind, and when I drive away from them, I feel a soft glow from it. I feel less broken than when I found them. It was hard, talking about all the things we talked about, but it was good, all that painful communication.
I follow the directions Lola has written out, grateful to have them, along with the name of my contact person. I take I-55 toward St. Louis and merge onto I-70 going west, well before reaching St. Louis. I stop only once during the drive, anxious to arrive and start doing it better. Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong—because she is not wrong; she is so so right—is spinning and jumping in my tummy, and I can’t tell if I’ve got gas from all the rich food yesterday or if I’m really feeling the first flutters of her. Silly that I already think of her as a girl, but I do.
When I get off the interstate in Kansas City, I am turned around and have to double back. I feel panicked that I’ve lost my way and pull into a parking lot at a gas station to get my bearings. When I come back from the restroom, I feel a little less crazy—still nervous, but not panicked. I get in my car and look out at the traffic, trying to get my bearings. I turn right out of the gas station and let the traffic carry me along until I start hitting the residential areas. Another right on Arbor Way, and I circle through a series of subdivisions, some in better repair than others, until I see the large, two-story, white house with the number 8975 on the column out front. The front yard is dominated by a large tree with massive bare limbs, spreading wide over the yard. It will be magnificent in the spring.
I park Little Red and take my backpack and my pumpkin pie with me to the front door. Flips. Little Miss is just a-flipping. I knock on the door, noticing the porch swing to the left, just where Will and Barb have the swing on their porch. It makes me smile. The door opens after the unlocking of a deadbolt, and the woman standing there could be Lola’s sister. “Can I help you?” she asks, keeping the door pressed close against her, not allowing admittance.
“Yes, I called last week. Alison Hayes. They said they would have room for me here.” My nerves jangle out with my words, and the edges of my vision darken, just a bit, before going back to normal. I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for her to welcome me in.
“Yes,” she says. Opening the door fully, letting me pass through. “Do you have things in your car? You’ll want to move that around back. We try to be a little private around here. Some of our girls are coming from bad situations. You understand?” I nod and ask if I should move my car now. “No, let’s take you in to meet Miss Janice first. We’ll get you settled, then we’ll help you bring in your things.”
I follow her down the hall. There are doors all along the corridor, but they are closed, and the corridor is only lit by sconces along the wall. It is silent, in a way that feels odd and unnatural, as if the rest of the world stopped moving when I entered this building, as if I have stepped somehow out of time.
We pause at a door, and she knocks then opens the door to Miss Janice’s office. “Miss Janice. Our new girl has arrived. Would you like me to show her to her room?”
“No. I’ll talk to her first. Thank you, Jules.” Jules holds the door open and motions me in, and Miss Janice stands up from behind her desk, and I only know she is no longer sitting because I saw her stand up. She is the shortest, most petite adult woman I have ever seen, and the resonate voice I’d heard coming through the door moments ago can absolutely not belong to her. I step inside, with my backpack slung over my shoulder and my pumpkin pie held before me, like some strange, sad offering.
She comes around the desk and offers her hand. “I’m Janice,” she says, in that low, soft voice. Her smile is warm and generous, displaying small, even teeth. I wonder if she is a fairy, and laugh at myself for the thoughts in my head. “You must be Alison.”
“I am. Alison Hayes.” I shake her hand, and she does not release mine.
“Nice to meet you. We are glad you are here. Will you pray with me?” Without waiting for me to respond, she closes her eyes and lowers her face, “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank you for bringing Alison to us today. We pray to you for the well-being of her child and that you guide her as she is with us in making a decision to Glorify You.” I snap to and realize that I should close my eyes and bow my head as well, but she is closing with, “In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.”
I nod at her, awkward, uncomfortable, having never in my life had a person pray over me before. Prickles cross over my shoulders and down my arms, and for a moment I feel like maybe God did just notice I was here. She pats my hand then and finally sets it free, motioning for me to take a seat on the other side of the desk, and I do, setting my backpack and Tupperware-encased pie on the floor.
She strolls around to the other side of the desk and settles in her seat, which doesn’t change her height at all, and assesses me. What am I supposed to do? What should I say? My mind spins in the silence, wondering what it is that happens next. “Thank you for having me” seems wrong.
“How are you?” she finally asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence “Alison? How are you?”
“I’m good.” Which clearly isn’t true. “I’m okay.” She nods, approving.
“Can you tell me what you hope to do while you are here?” I look at her like she’s a little crazy—what does she think I want? I want a safe place to be while I grow a baby to give to some other family to raise. That’s what I want. I want to break the cycle. I want her to grow up in a family that doesn’t know what I know. I want her to grow up having the things she needs. I want her to grow up with clean water and clean clothes and clean thoughts. I want her to dream of college, not just dream that nobody forces their way into her room on any given night.
“I don’t know,” I say simply, because how can I say all the rest?
“Do you want to keep your baby, or are you looking for a home for your baby?”
“Oh. I want her to have a family.” I hadn’t really thought about keeping her, but I see a vision of me in my mother's shoes, walking Little Miss home from kindergarten, doling out Milk Duds as we walk hand in hand. My breath catches in my throat, and I push the thought away. I am not my mother.
“All right. There are some forms we’ll have you fill out when the time comes, but first we’ll want you to see our doctor. Are you able to do that today? We’d really like to verify your situation before you take your room. Okay?”
“Sure. I can do that.” I’m disappointed though, because I was ready to settle somewhere and the thought of going back in my car and driving around Kansas City looking for a doctor’s office is almost more than I can handle.
“Great.” She picks up the phone and pushes a button. I hear a buzz through the receiver and then a voice answering the call. Miss Janice responds with, “Hey, Charlotte. I have a young lady that needs to see Dr. Smith. Is he available?” She pauses, and I try to catch the words across the line, but they are too faint, I am too far across the room. “Wonderful. I’ll walk her down . . . Alison Hayes . . . That’s right.” She listens a moment longer, then drops the receiver on its cradle and scoots around the desk to lead me to Dr. Smith.