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THE PITTSBURGH SKYLINE passed by Lexie’s window, demanding attention. The first time she visited the city, she knew she belonged. She loved the majesty of the high-rise buildings, the sight of the inclined railways, and the way the afternoon sun glinted off the soft ripples of the Allegheny and Monongahela River.
Pittsburgh was known as “The Steel City,” “The City of Bridges,” and as she passed over the Veteran’s Bridge, she wondered if she would ever find a connection to the woman who hadn’t been raped and the one who had. The woman who once loved this view, the hustle and bustle of city life. The one with enough dreams and ambition to last her a lifetime.
Months ago, if asked to debate the topic of suicide, she would’ve scoffed at the subject, citing those who used suicide to escape their lives as either weak or selfish. Or both. She thought she was made of tougher stuff. Yesterday, however, she was one step away from ending it. Literally. The only reasons she hadn’t were because of Sienna’s interruption and a positive pregnancy test—or twenty tests, to be exact.
To die was nothing because inside she had already died. But the life inside of her, however unwanted, however innocent, changed things.
A part of him, a piece of Brent, lived inside of her, and as ridiculous as it may sound, she didn’t want her life to end with his DNA, his imprint inside her body. He’d already left his mark inside her soul, her spirit. The fact he left a permanent physical impression inside her body as well, disheartened her.
She didn’t want the baby inside of her. It was an intrusion into her life and her body. Enduring a pregnancy seemed unfair. The child inside her prolonged this nightmare when all she wanted was an escape. Pregnancy and labor would change her body forever. It would leave a tangible, physical mark on her body, while the rape itself left behind emotional wounds that would never heal. She was scarred inside and out. Twice damaged. Body and soul, she had been marred.
Yesterday, after she scraped herself out of the bathtub, trembling, and wet, she wrapped her robe around herself and sunk into bed. She slept in fitful exhaustion and dreamed—of pastures as green and vast as The Emerald City. She dreamed of horse and buggies clopping down the road, through a small town where the pace of life slowed down. The sweet scent of apple orchards, cornfields as far as the eye could see, the brisk breeze off the lake, and the fresh taste of sun-ripened strawberries.
She woke craving her mother’s homemade bread and the gritty texture of silt beneath her feet and in-between her toes on the shoreline of the Pymatuning.
The next morning, bleary-eyed and tired despite the rest, she knew exactly what she needed to do and where she should go. Her subconscious had drawn up images in her sleep, granting her the only moment of lucid purpose in over two months. She would drive two hours until she arrived at the small, charming township of Cherry Valley, Ohio. Her destination was home—to her family’s farm and the peace and serenity of the country.
She had no idea what the coming months would bring. But maybe, God willing, she’d find sanctuary until she had the baby. Only then, would she decide what to do with herself and the scattered pieces of her broken life.
* * *
GRAVEL CRUNCHED UNDERNEATH the tires of Lexie’s car as she pulled up to her parent’s farmhouse. Built in the mid-1800s, the house was a relic of beauty. Most of the original features of the home remained, with only necessary modern adjustments and conveniences.
The exterior boasted the original wood siding, now painted a classic white with black shutters, adorning rows of double-paned windows. An expansive porch wrapped around the front of the home, and to the back and sides of the house stood fields where hay grew knee-high and corn, just barely sprouting, reached toward the sky in the land beyond.
Coming to a stop, Lexie got out of her car. She inhaled, taking in the sweet, earthy scent of the fields.
In the next couple of weeks, if her parents were lucky, the first cutting of hay would be harvested and baled, becoming sustenance for their horses and cattle. At home, everything turned full circle.
Looking on now, at the farm, her childhood home, her stomach twisted. Lexie had forgotten how beautiful this place was. She had been gone far too long. And why? It was hard to remember all the reasons. After the passing of time, they seemed somehow trivial. Or maybe her newfound yearning for home was merely in the face of her wounds.
Beside her, a door creaked, and when she turned, her mother stood on the wide porch, stoic as ever. Her strength wasn’t just physical. Though years of farming had given her enough muscle to last a lifetime, her strength came from within; it showed in every nuance of her being—her strong smile, her intense gaze, her steady voice. A type of emotional toughness emanated from her spirit. One Lexie had always quietly envied, especially now. But along with her mother’s fortitude, came a stubbornness that couldn’t be matched, an insistence that things be seen through her eyes and her eyes alone. And as she soaked up the sight of her mother, her mulish tendency reminded her of at least one of the reasons why she left and often stayed away.
Funny how one of the things that pushed her away before, brought her back now.
She needed her mother’s mulish strength more than ever. Lexie needed the insistence that things were not as she saw them, that maybe things could be different. Maybe her future, her life, wasn’t over. Because somewhere in the recesses of her heart, her will to survive still existed. Otherwise, she would be back on that balcony.
“Here’s my girl,” her mother said. “You’ve stayed away too long.” She leaned toward the door and yelled. “Ed, come on out, Alexis is finally home.”
Lexie smiled. An unexpected relief washed over her when her mother bounded down the stairs and wrapped her arms around her. One dip of the head and she breathed in her mother’s scent. Like the earth, she smelled of summer days, fallen leaves, and rain.
She leaned on her for a moment, allowing herself the luxury of her strength. Tears slid down Lexie’s cheeks and her knees trembled, signaling the brink of collapse. Pulling back, she swiped at her damp cheeks and willed herself to put on a happy face.
“Honey, are you crying?” her mother asked, wiping Lexie’s cheek with the back of her hand.
“No. I’m just glad to see you.”
Her mother frowned and tightened her grip on Lexie’s arms, signaling her disbelief. She tended to have the kind of ESP or sixth sense only a mother possessed, but before she could say anything more, the shuffle of heavy footsteps on the porch and the sound of her father’s throaty voice interrupted the moment. “Come here so I can look at you,” he said. “Gail, let her go will ya. You can’t hog her all day.”
Lexie moved around her mother, putting forth her best impersonation of a woman still happy with her lot in life. One who wasn’t slowly dying inside.
“Hi, Dad,” she said, walking toward him onto the porch. She paused in front of him briefly, before falling into his outstretched arms.
Unlike her mother, her father’s strength was subtle. Soft around the edges and more sensitive than most, he provided the calming presence in their home growing up. The smooth lilt to his voice accompanied an even temper and the ability to rationalize the worst of situations. No two people were more opposite, nor more perfect for each other than her parents. While her mother ranted, her temper short and hot, he listened with rationale and logic. He had a way, like no one else, of smoothing her mom’s hard edges, possessing the ability to get her to listen to reason.
When her father pulled back from their embrace, a smile spread across his face, his dark, chocolate eyes sparkling, so opposite of her own ice blue.
“We’re more than happy to have you home. How long are you in for? Through the weekend?” he asked.
Knowing her answer would be a shock, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat, unable to meet his gaze. “No. Actually, I’m staying for a while. I’m not sure exactly, but maybe a few months.”
“Months?” her mother’s voice sliced the air. With narrowed eyes, she asked, “What about your job? What about the magazine?”
Though Lexie had anticipated the questions and answering them was inevitable, she wasn’t ready yet. She needed to get her bearings before explaining even part of her situation.
“I’m on an extended leave,” Lexie said.
Only a partial lie, the words came easily. When she called Pittsburgh Magazine, they weren’t thrilled she wished to extend her two and a half months leave. In so many words, they threatened to replace her with another photographer if she wasn’t back by Monday, and soon after, they’d find someone else to write her editorial, The Daily Life. She couldn’t blame them. It was sort of hard to write a column about life in Pittsburgh if you weren’t there actually living it.
“Oh,” her mother said. She stood next to Lexie, nodding and giving her father the look, which meant, as soon as she got him alone, she planned on launching into her analysis of her daughter’s strange behavior.
“Well, we’re pleased to have you home,” her father said, rocking back on his heels. “Your mother and Heather have been working hard in the kitchen. They’re preparing a real feast for tonight. The kids are out back,” he said, gesturing towards the backyard, where Lexie’s nieces played on the giant wooden set. “And Phillip is still working the fields. They should be about ready to plant pumpkins.”
“I’m surprised Phil’s even coming over. I figured the second he heard I came home, he’d hightail it out of here.”
Heather, Phillip’s wife, was as soft-spoken and shy as they came. Lexie often wondered how she stayed with a man as grating as her brother seemed these past years.
Her father pursed his lips and said nothing, leaving her with the distinct impression she was right. Phil didn’t want to see her, but with a lifted chin, her mother said, “You’re his sister, so he’ll be here, and he’ll be happy to see you.”
Lexie smiled for her benefit, even though she knew the only reason Phil agreed to come to dinner tonight was because her mother had insisted on him being there.
After being ushered inside, her parents took her bags upstairs into the guest bedroom while she said hello to Heather in the kitchen and the kids out back. But she found it more difficult than she had imagined, drumming up even the slightest bit of enthusiasm for her family, and soon found her excusing herself to her bedroom. With weary bones beyond her twenty-eight years, she climbed the old creaking stairs to her room. Once inside, she flopped down on the bed next to her luggage, pulling at the pale green quilt until she wrapped it over her shoulders, around to her face, and inhaled. The strong scent of fabric softener reminded her of her childhood. It smelled like security, like a simpler time when all you cared about was how many summer days were left and what ice cream you’d chose for dessert. And for the first time in a long time, safety seemed somehow tangible, peace only a mere finger-grasp away, and she fell asleep with ease.
When she woke hours later with a pounding headache, she hurried into the hall and toward the bathroom with her overnight bag. The last thing she wanted was to be late for supper and give Phil extra ammunition to hate her.
She splashed her face with cool water, brushed the tangles from her thick mane, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. But no amount of primping could erase the truth. Her reflection told a story of defeat in the dull blue of her eyes, the dark shadows below them, and ghostly pallor that stared back at her. Nevertheless, she dabbed on a bit of concealer, some lip gloss, blush, and applied mascara, hoping she appeared half-human and didn’t overcompensate. She probably should have put fresh clothes on, as well. Her jeans and wrinkled blouse served her façade very little, but with no ambition to change, she headed for the stairs.
The smell of roast beef, potatoes, asparagus, and apple pie wafted through the large house, making her mouth water.
She walked through the sitting room and living room, towards the chatter in the dining area. Their farmhouse was spacious, with sprawling rooms, high ceilings, and huge, open archways. The house screamed rustic charm, showing its true age of a century home by the huge wooden beams, scarred wood floors, and crown molding so thick it would leave Martha Stewart salivating. The lath and plaster walls, the woodwork and detailing, all done in slabs of hard cherry, and the fireplaces framed with marble were all original.
Her childhood home calmed her like an analgesic, and as she approached the dining room, she wondered if it was really that much of a comfort for her, or if eventually the soothing affect her childhood home would wear off, leaving her with nothing but the emptiness she felt inside.
She entered the dining room and found her mother bustling about, back and forth to the kitchen, carrying platters of steaming hot food, while her father, Phil, and Heather were already seated around the table.
Lexie’s gaze locked with Phillip’s almost immediately. His mouth tightened into a thin line of disapproval, and he seemed unable or unwilling to hide the mild contempt rocketing through the gray of his eyes. But could she really blame him? After all, she could count on one hand the number of times she had visited in the past year, and her phone calls weren’t exactly forthcoming either.
She sat down in the seat next to her father. Only a moment later, her mother strode into the room with a bowl of warm rolls and placed them on the table in front of her.
“I hope you had a good rest,” her mother said.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry. I hope you didn’t wait on me. I haven’t gotten much sleep lately and didn’t realize I had napped so long,” Lexie said.
“We weren’t waiting at all. We just finished preparing the food. Besides, you look like you needed it.”
She felt Phil’s eyes boring into her from across the table and urged herself not to glance his way. No use in ruining dinner.
“Yeah. You have bags under your eyes the size of Texas. What, is the big city keeping you up at night?” Phil asked, the current of sarcasm and hostility in his voice apparent.
She shifted her gaze to him but remained silent.
“Phil, why don’t you go out and get the girls. Tell them supper’s ready,” her father said, always the peacemaker.
“Fine.” Phil took the napkin off his lap and threw it on his plate, blasting Lexie with one last glare before he stood.
Beside her, Heather cleared her throat, then reached out and squeezed Lexie’s hand, diffusing the tension. “It’s nice to have you back for a while.”
“I wish my brother could say the same.”
“Give him time,” her mother chimed in.
Not a moment later, Phil returned with his two daughters. The oldest, Hannah, was six, and the youngest, Penelope, was three.
“Girls, did you wash your hands?” Heather asked, narrowing her eyes at them.
“Yes,” they said in unison, then giggled.
Lexie smiled at them and waved.
“Aunt Lexie, did you bring us presents?” Hannah asked. She pushed back her unruly golden locks from her face, her eyes wide and hopeful.
“Hannah!” Heather admonished.
“It’s okay,” Lexie said. She looked over to Phillip, who appeared to either be ignoring the conversation or just pretending to as he heaped mashed potatoes onto his plate, looking like he thought if could eat fast enough, dinner would be over, and he could leave.
Lexie focused back on the girls, taking in their porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. “I didn’t have time to get anything because I left my apartment in a hurry, but maybe I’ll have to do some shopping while I’m here.”
Hannah shot her a toothless grin, and Penelope squealed before diving into the rolls. Lexie wished she could enjoy this, enjoy them, but ever since the incident, everything left a bitter taste in her mouth that couldn’t be washed out. Not even the innocent smile of a child. Especially that, because now it only reminded her of the one growing in her belly.
During dinner, silence filled the room, save for the clinking of silverware on plates and the chink of ice in their glasses as everyone began to eat. Seated next to her mother, Lexie pushed the food around her plate, sensing her mother’s prying eyes studying her over the rim of her glass.
“You seem different,” her mother said, breaking the silence. She tilted her head to the side, her eyes sharp on Lexie’s face, her expression one of challenge.
Lexie shrugged, but her time was up. She had to tell them. Her mother’s resolve was stronger than any will of hers to keep quiet. Besides, she couldn’t keep her pregnancy a secret forever. To her calculations, based on the last day of her menstrual cycle, she was three months pregnant. She was already bloated, and in another month, her slender frame would start showing her condition.
She could think of no easy way to tell them, no way to make the fact she was pregnant more palatable to her conservative parents, so she didn’t try. Meeting her mother’s gaze dead-on, she said, “I’m pregnant.” No hesitation. No explanation.
She barely heard the gasp next to her as she watched her mother, whose fork clattered to her plate. She straightened in her chair, her spine rigid as steel. Wide eyes stared back at her, gleaming with a million questions, ones Lexie was not ready to answer and likely couldn’t.
“I’m staying until the baby is born,” Lexie added.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed the way her nieces continued to eat rolls and mashed potatoes, without so much as a blink in her direction. Apparently, pregnancy didn’t constitute breaking news to them.
Her mother, on the other hand, had eyes the size of baseballs. A moment passed before she smoothed the front of her shirt to compose herself. “When did you find this out?” she asked.
“Yesterday.” Lexie picked at her roast with her fork.
“Who’s the father?” she asked.
“I can’t say.”
“You can’t say who the father of your child is?”
Lexie flinched. She hated the way she said your child as if she had an active part in creating what happened to her.
“Please tell me you know who it is,” her mother added.
“Of course.” However painful, she couldn’t reveal the father’s identity or the circumstances. Too much was attached to the man responsible for her condition—betrayal, shame, guilt, fear. On the other hand, she didn’t want them thinking she had no idea who the father was or that she got pregnant willy nilly. “I can’t talk about him, but I have my reasons. Trust me.”
Her mother leaned back in her chair, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “Okay,” she said, drawing out the word. “What are you going to do about work? Don’t you think it’s awfully irresponsible to leave your job right now? Babies cost a lot of money. Is this father, whose-name-you-can’t-mention, going to help with that?”
“I didn’t quit my job, Mom. I’m on a—”
“Break. Right, I know.”
“I’m not keeping the baby,” Lexie stated, simply. “You need to know that. I’m staying here at the farm until I have it, then I’ll figure out what to do from there. I know it’s a busy season for you, so I can help out—”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Already weary of the conversation, Lexie kneaded her forehead. “What is?”
“All of it. You’re just going to give up your baby? You go and get pregnant, and then you want to shirk the responsibility. Just because it wasn’t in your well-laid plans?”
Lexie closed her eyes, opening them again to Phillip’s blatant stare. His eyes bore into her with unrelenting intensity, and for a moment, the oddest combination of both relief and fear washed over her, because she thought for sure he saw right through her to the heart of it all. To the truth.
Her father placed his hand on her mother’s arm. “Gail, we have to let Lexie figure this out. She’s an adult. These decisions are not for us to make.”
Her mother glared at him, and for a second, Lexie thought she might slap him. Her eyes flashed, and her nostrils flared from holding back. Only a second later they started arguing, her mother demanding and stern, while her father remained cool and reasonable. Their voices faded into the background, until Lexie felt like she was in a bubble. Maybe she’d simply float away. Wouldn’t that be nice? Then she wouldn’t have to deal with any of this, the life inside her and her mother’s brutal insistence she keep the monster’s seed that grew in her womb.
But her mother didn’t know she had enough contempt for her current disposition to last her a lifetime, and suddenly, she couldn’t take the noise. There was nothing to celebrate or fight for. Nothing for her to be happy about. The bickering around her only exemplified her hopelessness.
Her arms shook as irritation swept through. She braced her hands on the table, her insides tight like she might burst.
“Stop.” She stood, as her voice boomed through the room, the candlelight flickering from the force of her words. “I’m not keeping the baby,” she said. “I don’t want it.”
Her mother stared at her with wide eyes, her mouth frozen in the position of whatever had been on the tip of her tongue. Her father cast his eyes downward, as did Heather and the girls. Phillip’s stare, however, cut through her, searing a hole in the pit of her stomach. Shaking his head, he chuckled, his face contorting.
Her mother’s gaze darted to him at the sound. “Nothing about this is funny, Phillip,” she said.
“No, it’s not. You’re right. It is expected though. Your little girl finally comes home, with the joyous news that she is to have a baby. And to whom? She can’t say.” He whispered this last part, mocking her anonymity.
Glancing at their mother, contempt shining in his eyes, he continued, “She’s going to stay here while she’s pregnant, letting you and Dad watch her belly swell by the week, see the unborn grandchild you’ll never get to know, never get to hold. Then she’s going to take the baby away. And herself with it. She’ll move back to the city and her job she loves so much. But don’t worry, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see her at Christmas.”
Even as her insides ached, Lexie couldn’t deny the truth in his words.
“Phillip,” her mother rasped, “that’s quite enough.”
“Yeah, it is. I think I’ve had enough supper. If you’ll excuse me,” he said, pushing away from the table.
“Sit down. You’re not leaving. We need to talk about this,” her mother said.
“No, I’m done. You can stick around while she hurts you, but I won’t. She can have her visit. She can have her baby, then give it away. She can hurt you again by leaving, but I’m not going to hang around to watch this time.”
Her mother began to rise, scarlet blooming across her face, ready to protest, but Lexie was tired of the fight. The realization her rape had forever changed, not only her own life, but the life of all of those who loved her, seeped into her pores like poison.
Lexie leaned across the table, placing a weary hand on her mother’s outstretched arm. “Mom, he’s right. There’s nothing to talk about. Just let him go.”