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I didn’t go to the doctor’s. Didn’t think anything was wrong. I’d fallen, that’s all. Fallen in an accident.
Happens all the time.
I drove around town. Ended up all the way out on Baxter Loop. Nearly hit one of the goats that had escaped from its pen and was happily crossing the road to get to the fuller undergrowth. I was crying so hard by then my vision was totally blurry. Knew I’d have to stop.
I’d been to Grandma Lucy’s farm before. Back in grade school, we’d take field trips there from time to time, learn how to milk the goats, sample some of the cheeses and yogurts. This was the first time I could remember stopping by as an adult.
Mrs. Gregory, Grandma Lucy’s plump niece who lives with her, bustled out of the house when I pulled up, wiping her hands on the sides of a checkered apron. “Well, look who’s here!” she exclaimed, even though I’m pretty sure she had no clue who I was.
I gave a quick smile as best as I could. All I really needed to do was collect my thoughts, give my brain a five- or ten-minute distraction before I got on the road again. Don’t ask me where I expected to go after that. I was sure that by nightfall I’d end up in Reginald’s guest room, but I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Wasn’t ready to tell him about my failure.
Mrs. Gregory was all smiles as she wrapped her arms around me and hugged me like I was some 19th-century heroine who’d just returned home after a transatlantic voyage. “My, but you’ve grown so big,” she exclaimed, and I didn’t know if she was referring to my swollen abdomen or if she really did remember me coming here as a child. I guess being the only Chinese-American girl in a town this small makes me stand out more than others.
“Come in.” Mrs. Gregory beckoned to me, and I followed her into the little red farmhouse. “I was just getting some refreshments,” she told me. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the sitting room, and I’ll be ready in just a few minutes. Grandma Lucy’s already in there.”
I’d gotten so used to everyone in Orchard Grove calling her Grandma Lucy that I didn’t even stop to think it strange for her niece to use the same title. I wasn’t sure I felt like an official visit. Really all I’d wanted was an excuse to look around the little gift shop and then get back on the road. But there I was in Grandma Lucy’s sitting room, which was more like a greenhouse except for Grandma Lucy’s rocker and an upholstered loveseat with enormous flower patterns all around.
She turned and beamed at me.
“You’ve come to visit,” she exclaimed, and as antisocial as I was feeling, she seemed genuinely touched that I stopped by. I smiled back at her and figured there were worse places to spend the next half an hour. If Chris got it in his head to come looking for me, he’d never dream of searching here.
“You’re due soon.” Grandma Lucy reached out her hand, and surprisingly it didn’t feel weird or invasive when she patted my belly. “It’s a girl?”
I nodded. I was so emotionally exhausted that I didn’t think to wonder if she’d heard the gossip through the church grapevine (also known as the Orchard Grove prayer chain), if she had somehow divined my child’s gender, or if it was nothing more than a lucky guess.
“Connie’s bringing snacks soon,” Grandma Lucy said, and I got this eerie feeling that the entire household had been expecting my visit.
Grandma Lucy sat me down in the chair across from her rocker. We were so close, our knees almost touched. She leaned forward and studied my face. “Something is troubling you.”
“Yeah,” I replied. Grandma Lucy had a well-earned reputation for her discernment, so it was senseless to deny anything.
“There’s a violent history between you and your baby’s father.” She stated it so factually, like she was reading me a press release about Hester Lynne’s soon-to-be-released third novel.
The funny thing was I realized she could be talking just as easily about my husband or about the man who raped me. “It’s pretty complicated,” I confessed.
“These things always are.” Grandma Lucy’s enigmatic response made me wonder just how much she knew or had guessed about my situation. Part of me wanted her to shut up, to stop prying into my life. The other part of me longed for some word of comfort, some message of encouragement. I didn’t want to tell her about Chris. Didn’t want to repeat the conversation you and I had recently shared, a conversation where I was told that if I didn’t submit to my husband, if I didn’t let him be the man of the house and make a decision about my child’s future, I wasn’t just a sinner but my eternal security was in question. Like I said, at that point in my life, I really hadn’t grown spiritually since I’d been a little eight-year-old playing egg toss at Orchard Grove’s vacation Bible school. I hadn’t studied what the Bible did or didn’t say about divorce. I knew it was listed as one of the things God hated, maybe even one of the deadly seven sins or something like that. I also knew that God was a God of love and perpetual forgiveness, so if I found myself unable to forgive my husband when he kept on sinning against me, I could see how I would be somehow falling short.
I’ve studied it more now, even though I have to admit I’ve still got my questions. Probably always will. The experts don’t even agree. Some say the only time divorce is permissible is when a clear-cut case of adultery is involved. One author I read took his hypothetical example to a pretty ridiculous extreme. He mentioned a woman whose husband was serving a twenty-five-year jail sentence for murdering their next-door neighbor. The wife wanted to know if she’d be justified to divorce her husband. The question hinged on whether the husband had sexually assaulted his victim before the murder. If he’d raped the neighbor, well then, his wife could seek a guilt-free divorce, but if no actual adultery occurred, Mrs. Convict would remain bound to that murderer for as long as they both shall live.
Other authors allowed for divorce in other cases too (such as domestic violence), but they were divided when it came to the question of remarriage. I’m sure I spent over a hundred dollars at the Christian bookstore looking for answers (but even that couldn’t keep them from going out of business). Still, no two books agreed with each other.
But those weren’t the questions I was thinking about in Grandma Lucy’s sitting room. All I knew then was that I had to keep my child safe, and I didn’t trust myself to stay away from Chris forever.