Dr. Cameron told her to get dressed and he would be back in a minute. Miserable, Trudy swung her legs over the side of the examination table and hopped down, her bare ass hanging out of the gown, lubricant making her thighs slippery. Oh, she felt low. She grabbed some tissues from the box on the desk and cleaned up and then she took a few more and blew her nose. Not sure what else to do, she put the used tissues on the crinkly paper on the table, covered them with her gown, and got dressed. She sat on the black vinyl chair in the corner, shivering in her jeans and T-shirt, dreading whatever would come next.
She was thinking about Tammy, about how wrong it seemed that she became prettier and happier with each week of pregnancy. Her face was rosy and full, her hair thick and glossy. Her breasts and belly were firm and round and perfect. Laughing and smiling all the time. As if she didn’t have a care in the world. As if she had no idea what could possibly be wrong with being sixteen years old, single, unemployed, and pregnant. Trudy, on the other hand, was feeling tired and ugly and hollowed out. Nauseated and conquered.
Dr. Cameron knocked once as he opened the door. He was already in the room by the time Trudy had even noticed the sound.
“Trudy, here’s what we’re going to do. There is a very easy way to address this problem. I’m assuming it’s a problem, Trudy?”
She stared at the doctor for a moment, not sure she understood.
“Trudy, there is an operation that we do sometimes, when girls’ periods are too heavy. I think it would be a good idea for you. Essentially, we just put you to sleep and scrape the lining of your uterus. It sort of just gives you a fresh start.”
“But, I haven’t had my period in months.”
Dr. Cameron sighed and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Trudy, this procedure works for all kinds of problems, and I think it might be the best thing for what’s bothering you. But you tell me. What do you want to do?”
Gratitude made her weak, made her body limp. “I want the operation. Thank you, Dr. Cameron.”
On the day of Trudy’s procedure, Tammy drove her to the hospital in Harristown, half an hour away. The sisters held hands across the bench seat the whole way there and said nothing. Trudy looked out the window so she didn’t have to look at Tammy’s belly almost touching the steering wheel.
Two weeks after her surgery, Trudy had a follow-up appointment with Dr. Cameron, where she sat through his gentle — and embarrassing — speech about preventing unwanted pregnancies. As if she didn’t know. As if she hadn’t learned her lesson. She left the clinic with a year’s supply of birth control pills in her purse. Free. Just in case, he said. You’ll have them if you need them. Ninety-nine percent effectiveness rate, he told her.
But she knew a way that was one hundred percent effective. It had worked for her in the past and it would work again.
Zero access. Closed for business. She put the pills in the top drawer of her dresser, buried beneath underpants and nightgowns.
Until five years later when Jules Tremblay walked into the Jubilee restaurant.