I DON’T REMEMBER HOW WE got home. I also know that this isn’t a dream I’m just going to wake up from. Mum must have helped me to the car. Dr. Leigh probably said something helpful, and I know he took blood, because I have the bruise on the inside of my elbow I always have when I give blood. Dad drove home. But I don’t remember any of it. I have enough blanks in my life. I’ve lost enough time. I refuse to lose any more. Even for this.
They’re squeezing me in with the ob-gyn on Sunday afternoon. I don’t remember making the appointment, but it’s written on the calendar in the kitchen, so I know it’s true. They must be rushing the blood test. The ob-gyn is Short Sarah’s Mother. Living in a small town was always comforting before this. Everyone knows me. They still do. I just have things I want to keep from them, and that is hard to do when you are a cheerleader and actually like being the centre of attention, most of the time. I decide right then that I am going as far afield as possible for my psychiatrist.
Mum and Dad don’t say the word options even once. I don’t call Officer Plummer. I’m not going to until the ob-gyn tells me to. On Sunday morning we pick up Polly, and Mum drives us to the hospital again. Dr. Short Sarah’s Mother must be on call this weekend. That’s how they were able to fit me in on such short notice. Small-town doctors have to be able to multitask. Dad is at work already when I wake up. I hope he doesn’t have to do anything too focused today.
The appointment passes in a fog. I can’t remember Short Sarah’s Mother’s name, but at least I don’t call her Short Sarah’s Mother. She confirms that I am pregnant, and does me the courtesy of not telling me the odds. I know them, and they are pretty steep. Mum and Polly keep offering to leave, and I keep turning them down. I get that at some point I am going to want privacy, but right now, every person in the room is a person I love (or, in the case of Short Sarah’s Mother, a person I trust), and that’s what makes it real.
Finally, I am back in my clothes and still feeling more naked than I ever have before, and Short Sarah’s Mother turns to me with a handful of pamphlets.
“I’m getting an abortion,” I say. I hadn’t thought about it until right that moment, except in the theoretical sense, but I know it is the only option I will accept. I am seventeen years old and I did not choose this. The sooner I end it, the better off I will be. Maybe that is selfish, but right now I am pretty sure I have earned a bit of selfish behaviour. Polly’s face is carefully neutral, and Mum just looks resolute.
“Okay,” says Short Sarah’s Mother without missing a beat. She drops about half the pamphlets onto the table and passes me only the relevant ones. “The closest clinic is in Waterloo, but the best ones are in Toronto. You don’t need me to set it up, just the paper that says you’re pregnant. Take your health card, and you’re all set.”
I wait for Polly to make the obvious joke about being glad we’re not Conservatives, but she’s not in a joking mood, and so nothing happens.
“Just out of curiosity, who knows my result?” I ask.
“Just the people in this room,” she says. “Usually the lab techs would know, but there were six other tests with yours, and we numbered them to maintain your anonymity.”
“Thank you,” I say. I absolutely mean it. Hopefully this means there will be no rumours. Or at least not too many rumours.
“That’s all from me,” says Short Sarah’s Mother. “You can stay in this room for as long as you need to, and then the door is at the bottom of the stairwell.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Mum says. “We’ll see ourselves out.”
She leaves, and I turn to Polly. “Want to walk me home?” I ask.
Polly looks at Mum.
“Of course,” Mum says, even though no one asked her directly. “I’ll start lunch.”
We head down the stairs without talking, and Mum leaves us in the parking lot. Polly and I head out, not particularly quickly. It’s a nice fall day, and we’re not in a hurry. We’re halfway through the cemetery before I realize that we’ve taken the usual shortcut, and then I grab Polly’s hand, and lead her off down one of the side rows, to a grave I haven’t visited since sixth grade.
We couldn’t bury Clara Abbey when she died, because the ground was frozen. I mean, they could have rented a backhoe for the job, but the graves in Palermo were always dug by Sal Harkney, and his machinery was strictly summer only. Clara spent the first four months of her death in the receiving vault, where she was joined by Tabitha Joiner, 87, cancer, and Joseph MacNamarra, 65, heart attack. Clara was finally buried in April, and my mother took me out of school to see it because Clara had been my friend. I missed a math test, so I didn’t complain.
Clara’s gravestone is white, like the really old ones at the back under the pine trees, but the writing is easier to read. It looks old and stately. Two things Clara Abbey didn’t grow up enough to be. There’s a new flower there, just one, nestled in the grass. I wonder who has been visiting. Her parents moved after the accident.
“Hermione,” Polly says. “I’m not sure this is healthy.”
“I just have to tell her,” I say. I can’t explain why. “She has to know.”
For the first time, Polly looks at me like she thinks I’m broken. It’s awful, and I want her to stop. But I also need to do this, so I turn back to the stone.
“Clara, I’m sorry I don’t ever come here,” I say. “I know that’s stupid, because you’re dead and I’m not sure why you’d care, but I haven’t forgotten you. I do my best to make sure that no one forgets you.”
The cemetery is very quiet. Even though more people use it for shortcuts than burials, we’re alone. Just the four of us.
“That’s the thing about curses,” I say. “They make sure everyone remembers. You’ll always be the girl that died by a drunk driver. The check mark for our graduating class. And that really sucks. You should be with us. Or we should forget you and move on. We shouldn’t set you up as something that makes us special. That’s not fair to anyone, even though you’re dead.”
Polly has realized why I came here, why I am talking to a dead person. She takes my hand.
“I’m not going to be the other check mark, Clara,” I say. “I refuse. You didn’t get a choice, but I do, and I’m making it. I will not be the class pregnancy. And if that ends the curse and makes everyone forget you, well, I’m not sorry about it.”
Clara doesn’t say anything, and I don’t get struck by lightning. I figure that means we’re good.
“Okay,” I say, turning back to Polly. “Crazy moment over. Let’s go see what’s for lunch.”
“I’m very proud of you,” she says, and links her fingers with mine.
“Hey,” I say, “if I can’t justify my decision to a dead person, how the hell do you think I’m going to live with it?”
“I’m still very proud of you,” she says, and we walk the rest of the way home without saying anything.
—
After lunch, we go up to my room and I get the phone. I’m holding Officer Plummer’s card in my other hand.
“Do you want me to call?” Polly asks.
“No,” I say. “I just need to think about it.”
“What’s to think about?” she asks.
“If I call, they’re going to round up all the guys from camp and make them take a test,” I say. “I mean, one of them did it, but most of them didn’t. Am I being fair?”
“You listen to me.” Polly puts her hands on my elbows and squeezes hard. “Nothing about this is fair. He has ruined your life. I don’t care who you have to upset or inconvenience, you are doing this, and you know it is the right thing to do. Dion asked every day for a whole week when it would be time to give his sample. He just wants you to know, and know for sure, that it wasn’t him. The only boy who is going to be put out by this is the bastard who did it. So you are going to make him as uncomfortable as you can.”
I dial the phone. Officer Plummer picks up, and as quickly as possible, I tell her the result and my decision.
“Miss Winters, you have my well wishes, as always,” she says when I’m done. “If you call me back after your appointment is booked, I will ensure that the sample is collected in such a way that the chain of evidence is airtight. If possible, I will do it myself.”
“Thank you, Officer,” I say. That’s a long drive for her.
“In the meantime, the OPP will start working with Camp Manitouwabing and the schools involved to gather samples from the male students and coaches for comparison,” she says. “If all goes well we’ll have the comparison results in a couple of weeks.”
“Okay,” I say. And then because I can’t think of anything else to say, I say it again. “Okay.”
“My phone is always on me, Miss Winters,” Officer Plummer reminds me. “You can call whenever you need to. I’ll answer any questions you have about our protocols, and I’m also available if you need someone to talk to.”
“Thank you, Officer,” Polly says, taking the phone when it becomes apparent that I am completely out of things to say. “She’ll call you if she needs you.”
They exchange good-byes, and then Polly hangs up. She leans forward—right in my face—all teeth and ferocity, and takes me by the shoulders. “Bastard left a sample after all,” she says. And then she starts to cry.