Текст книги "Immaculate"
Автор книги: Katelyn Detweiler
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
“You believe her, Sallie?”
The words made me flinch from my hiding spot at the top of our wooden spiral staircase. I pressed my head down between my knees and fought the urge to run back to my room, to blast music from my headphones and numb my eardrums with something other than the sound of my dad’s angry, accusing voice.
“You’re telling me that you honestly believe that this is, this is . . .” he stammered, sputtering, and I didn’t need to see him to picture his frenzied gestures, his strong hands waving and clawing at the air for words. “You believe that this is some sort of miracle, Sallie? A sign from God? Who does she think she is, the leader of the Second Coming? Do you even hear what you’re saying? This is goddamn ridiculous, and I can’t believe you’d entertain any of it for a minute.”
“She’s not lying, Paul. She’s not.” Mom’s voice was quiet, a whisper in comparison to his roar. I edged farther out along the step, careful not to cause any creaking that would give away my position. I’d been in this same exact spot so many times over the years, waiting and listening for a hint of Santa or the Easter Bunny, eavesdropping on my parents’ private conversations on nights when I wasn’t ready or able to fall asleep. I’d overheard them bickering at times, petty domestic disputes, but I could probably count on one hand the number of times I’d actually heard my parents yell at each other.
My mom and I had seen this coming, which is why she had asked to talk to him alone first—to clear the way, to take on the worst of the initial shock and disbelief. I had argued that it wasn’t fair to her, but after listening in on them, I knew that she’d been right. I wouldn’t have stood a chance.
As soon as we’d stepped out of Dr. Keller’s office that morning, I’d told my mom that I was keeping the baby. It didn’t feel right, I’d said, to end something that should never have been able to happen in the first place. There had to be a reason for it that we couldn’t understand yet, a reason that this was happening to me, to us. I couldn’t give the baby away for the same reason—I couldn’t live the rest of my life wondering who she or he was, why they were put here, how I had been chosen.
The wondering would make me insane. The wondering would ruin my life.
If Nate had been the father, if I’d gotten pregnant the normal way, would I have made this same decision? I still would have had to spend the rest of my life questioning who she or he would have, should have been. But I didn’t know. And I couldn’t know, not for sure. I only knew what I had to do now, in this very abnormal set of circumstances. I had no alternate reality.
Mom had nodded, and that was the end of the discussion. I would have to face the actual logistics at some point, some point very soon, of course: how to explain my situation to outsiders, how to support myself, where to live, whether to go to college next year or indefinitely postpone it. But those were questions for later, when reality—this brand-new form of reality—had time to settle in and slowly, little by little, mold itself into my daily life in a way that made any sort of sense. March. I would have a baby in March. I could already hear the frantic ticking in my ears, the countdown of the clock that was as real and as crucial as my own heartbeat.
My mom and I had spent the rest of the morning and afternoon curled up on the sofa together, waiting for my dad to come home early from work, all primed for some “news” that my mom had told him she needed to share. Talking and crying and replaying every part of the exam, the sonogram, the next steps. I had set up another appointment for the following week—my first trimester screening, a more specialized round of blood work and ultrasound evaluation to identify potential risks and abnormalities.
I had called Hannah afterward, too, since I felt guilty about ignoring most of her calls—practically on the hour, every hour—for the past two days. I could hear her relief rushing through the phone. Relief that I’d told my mom and taken the next step, and relief that she wasn’t the only one looking out for me anymore.
Izzy, of course, hadn’t called, and I hadn’t called her, either.
“Stop it, Sallie, just stop it. Listen to yourself!”
My dad’s yell brought me back to my precarious position on the stairs. I could hear his anxious footsteps battering against the tile floor, looping in circles around the kitchen table where my mom sat, soaking in his fury. “Our seventeen-year-old daughter fucked up, and she doesn’t want to face the consequences. And you’re accepting that. You’re encouraging it! You’re letting her live in a dream world where bad decisions and guilt don’t exist.” The pacing stopped, and suddenly everything was quiet. Too quiet. I couldn’t hear anything but the late-afternoon breeze hitting the screen door at the bottom of the stairs, the rhythmic tap-tap as it flapped against the doorframe.
“I want to talk to Mina,” my dad finally said. He was quieter, almost subdued, but his tone was colder, more demanding. I preferred shouting to the sound of this new voice, the voice of a stranger. “I don’t want you doing her dirty work, Sallie. She can look me in the eyes and tell me the story herself. And then she’s calling Nate and he’s coming over here. We all need to have a serious family discussion.”
“No!” I clamped my hand over my mouth as soon as I’d screamed it down the spiral tunnel of the stairwell, but it was too late.
“Mina?” both parents called out at the exact same moment.
I hopped to my feet and grabbed the banister for balance before turning and running back to my room. I slammed the door behind me and pushed my back up against it for support. The old farmhouse latches on our doors were worthless—a little well-placed banging made any lock reversible within seconds. I bent over, hands on my knees, gasping and heaving to refill my lungs with air. I could hear stomping on the stairs as my dad’s feet got closer and closer, the softer steps of my mom just behind him.
“Mina! Let me in. Now. We need to talk.” His fist pounding on the door sent a prickling wave of vibrations along my back. I stepped away and turned, holding my fingers down over the latch to keep the hook from coming undone.
“I’m not calling Nate, Dad. I don’t care if you believe me or don’t believe me. That’s your decision and I can’t change that, but I’m not bringing Nate into this. Not today, and not like this. I tell Nate on my own terms.”
“I’m not having this conversation through a slab of wood, Mina. Open the damn door, or I’m getting the ladder and coming in through the window. Your decision.”
I sighed, accepting my defeat. Hiding behind a closed door was pointless. I needed to change tactics and calm him down, start building back the trust somehow.
“Fine,” I said, yanking the latch up and swinging the door open. His cool blue eyes opened wide, surprised that I’d surrendered without more of a fight. “Let’s have a calm and rational conversation.” I walked over to my bed and sat on the edge, hands folded on my lap, looking up at him. “Mom’s told you everything that she knows and everything that I know. I didn’t have sex with anyone, Dad. I didn’t, I really didn’t, as ridiculous as I know that sounds. I don’t understand why this is happening either, or why me, why any of this, any better than you do.”
He loomed over me, rigid and stone-faced, a statue with my dad’s clothes and my dad’s features, but still just an imitation, someone, something, very different from my actual father. My mom came over to the bed and sat down next to me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. I could see my dad’s eyes shift from me to her, his forehead crinkling in disappointment.
“I would like at least a little show of support in all this, Sallie. I don’t want to be the only sane parent in the house. The only person who sees that all this is completely ludicrous. Complete bullshit.”
I winced, my ears unable to process my usually warm, devoted father talking about me like I was trash, a disgusting, despicable liar. I could feel my mom’s body shaking next to me, but she stayed silent, letting him push all his ugly words out into the open.
He glanced back at me then, apparently finished with my mom, and cringed. “I can’t even look at you right now, Mina,” he said, turning to stare out the window instead, running a hand through his already rumpled thick brown hair. “I feel like I don’t even know who you are.” The words ripped through my chest, like an anchor being yanked straight out of my heart, leaving a big, gaping, bloody hole in its wake.
“I didn’t sign up for a third kid, Mina. How are we going to handle this? Or, better question, how are you going to handle this? Are we supposed to play the daddy and mommy while you go off to college and have your own pretty little carefree life? Have you thought about any of this at all? Do you even grasp the fact that your life will never be the same? This changes everything, Mina. Every damn thing. All the dreams I had for you, all the dreams you had . . .” He choked up at the thought, putting his fist to his mouth to stifle the sob. “How could you do this, Mina? How could you?”
He started crying. My strong, invincible father. Weeping right in front of me. I had only seen him cry exactly four times before, twice for each of his parents—the moment that he’d heard each had passed away, and the point at the funerals when the caskets were lowered and the handfuls of dirt were thrown on top, forever separating my nanny and my pop pop from life on the surface, from green grass and sunlight and the first warm breeze of spring.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I whispered. “I really am.”
His breath hitched and he looked up at me, expectant and hopeful. He thought that he’d cracked me, that I was finally going to confess all my horrendous sins.
“I’m sorry . . . but that doesn’t mean that I did anything wrong. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you, but I can’t apologize for being pregnant. I can’t apologize that I’m having this baby. I didn’t ask for any of this. Believe it or not, this wasn’t my life plan either. This wasn’t my big dream for myself. I may not have it all figured out, but I have six months to get my act together.” I breathed in, balled my fists, and looked him directly in the eyes. “I can do this, Dad. I can. And I will.”
As I heard those words come out from between my lips, felt the full shape and size and weight of them, I believed myself. I really believed myself. I had accomplished everything I’d ever put my mind to, mastered any class, any project, any hobby I’d tried, no matter how difficult it was at the start. I had always kept trying, kept pushing myself further and further. I’d never failed. And I wouldn’t fail at this, either. I wouldn’t fail when it mattered the most.
My dad lowered his eyes and shook his head slowly in a daze. “I thought I’d gotten through to you. But clearly I haven’t even made a dent. I don’t know what it’s going to take.” He sighed, lifting his hands to massage deep circles around his temples. “Call Nate and tell him to come over. Now. I want to hear what he has to say about all this.”
“No.” I crossed my arms tight to hide my trembling hands. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. I needed more time.
“He needs to know, Mina. This is his problem, too.”
“This is not his problem. It has nothing to do with him, Dad. It’s not his child. It’s mine. And yes, he does deserve to know, and yes, our relationship will change because of this, but I get to decide when and how he finds out.”
“Give me your phone.”
“Don’t make her do this, Paul,” my mom pleaded, speaking up for the first time since she’d come into the room. “You shouldn’t force something like this on her, not so soon. Please, Paul. Give her more time.”
“Now, Mina,” my dad said, ignoring my mom.
“No!” My heart was skipping, banging in my chest, and I could feel the beads of sweat creeping down my neck.
He was quicker than I was, his eyes darting around the room until they spotted my phone on the nightstand directly in front of him. He lunged for the phone and grabbed it, skimming through my contacts list. His fierce eyes locked on mine as his finger hovered over Nate’s number, testing me, waiting for me to react.
“Are you asking him to come here, or am I? If you don’t do it, I will, Mina. This is nonnegotiable.”
My stomach was twisting and churning, but I couldn’t stop him, I realized. This was happening, I couldn’t fight it—I would be telling Nate that night. Though, if I was being honest with myself, it probably didn’t matter when, where, or how I told Nate. I knew how this would go—how this would end—regardless of how we got from point A to point B.
“Fine,” I said, my voice so thin and shaky, I barely recognized it as my own. “I obviously can’t stop you. But I won’t ever forget that you made me do this.”
My dad nodded as he pressed the dial button and handed me the phone.
There was barely one full ring before Nate answered, like he’d just been staring at the phone, waiting all day to hear from me.
“Mina! Thank God. I just got home from DC a little bit ago and I was about to drive over there if I didn’t hear from you soon.”
“Nate . . .”
“I’ve been really worried about you, Meen. It’s not like you to get this sick. You scared the shit out of me when you were too sick to even pick up the phone to say ‘happy anniversary.’ But I guess that’s why you were so tired last week. How are you feeling? Any better?”
“I’m okay. I’m . . . I’m so sorry I didn’t call sooner.” I paused, taking a deep breath, and forced myself to keep going. I could feel my dad watching me, waiting for me to say what had to be said. “Can you still come over now?”
“Yeah, of course. Do you need me to bring you anything?”
“No, thanks, though. I just . . . I just want to talk to you. About something.”
“You need to talk about something? Is everything all right? What’s going on?”
I started to say yes, everything was fine, I was all right, but I couldn’t lie to him. Everything wouldn’t be fine, and I wouldn’t be all right, not after I told him.
“Just come over as soon as you can, okay? I love you.” I hung up before he could say anything else.
“Are you happy now?” I asked my dad, tilting my head up to meet his eyes. “Are you?” I was shouting, practically spitting at my dad’s face, but I didn’t care. He deserved to feel at least a small piece of the pain and suffering that he was putting me through. “Are you happy that I’m about to lose someone I really, genuinely love and care about?”
He sighed. “This is his responsibility, too, Mina,” he said, as if he were explaining something entirely new and groundbreaking to me. “I expect that he’s man enough to work through it with you. And I certainly hope for the child’s sake that this isn’t the end for you two.”
I laughed, and it came out as a cold, hard shriek. “You don’t get it. You don’t get it, and maybe you never will.” I pulled myself out of my mom’s grip and slid farther down on the bed. She might believe me, she might be my most loyal ally, but she hadn’t done anything to stop him. I knew deep down that she probably couldn’t have fought him off any better than I had, but I couldn’t be close to her, either, right now.
“Can you both please leave my room?” I asked, pointing at the door. “I need to be alone. You can call me down when Nate gets here, and then you can sit and watch the destruction for yourself. It’ll be fabulous entertainment, A-plus epic drama, exactly what you asked for. Just you wait and see.”
• • •
I wouldn’t have needed to be in the room, sitting next to Nate on the faded gingham loveseat, my parents perched on the edge of the sofa across from us, to know exactly how the conversation would play out.
I felt my voice shift into automatic as I went through the details of the Iris encounter. On my third time telling it, the words all came out very neatly, streamlined, almost like a bedtime story worn in from being read out loud night after night. I saw Nate’s perfect, beautiful face pinch up in confusion and disbelief, saw as it morphed into anger and repulsion and hurt, so much hurt, when he finally understood what I was trying to tell him, why I had called him over to my house.
“This isn’t serious, Mina,” he said at the end, his dark, bottomless eyes begging for me to tell him that this was all some elaborate, senseless joke, some strange fever-induced babbling that had nothing to do with our real lives. He wanted to prick a hole in the terrible bubble that was growing bigger and bigger, swallowing the entire room, and go straight back to normal—pop! bang! swoosh!—as if none of this had ever happened.
“It’s serious, Nate. It’s all serious.” I wanted to reach out and put my hand on top of his hand, lock my fingers into his so that he couldn’t get up and walk out the door. But I couldn’t—I didn’t think I could handle the rejection of him yanking his hand away.
Why didn’t I have sex with him?
Why hadn’t I just let it happen? Why not on that perfect night up in the tree house? I loved him, I definitely loved him, and he loved me. If we’d been having sex, he would have believed that the baby was his. We both would have, of course. There’d be no other option, Iris or no Iris. Believing in anything Iris said was only possible in the absence of all other scientific explanations. It was a last resort, something to cling to when there was nothing else left.
But if I had lost my virginity to Nate, he would have stood by me and supported me. We would have raised the child together. Or we would have decided that I should have an abortion or give the baby up for adoption, but we would have made those decisions together, too.
But I hadn’t had sex with him, and after this, I never would.
“Nathaniel,” my dad said, clearing his throat to warm up.
I’d never heard him say Nathaniel before—it was always just Nate, to me, to everyone—and the sound of his full name felt so formal and unfamiliar, like someone I didn’t know. My dad hadn’t spoken once since we’d sat down in the living room, letting me tell the Iris story on my own, no interruptions, but I could tell from his constant squirming and foot tapping that his mind was leaping ahead to the questions he needed to ask and the answers he needed Nate to give.
“Now, Mina is fully intending on having this child. I respect her decision to not have an abortion, of course, but you can understand that I’m very worried about what’s to come down the road. I think that the two of you need to very, very seriously consider adoption here. Recognize that it’s the best option for both of your futures.” He put his hand up, as if to stop any potential argument before it started. “You two kids have so much potential, so much life and opportunity ahead of you, that you owe it to yourselves to at least think about giving this child to some other responsible, grateful couple, instead of raising it on your own. There are so many families who would be much better equipped to give this child the life he or she deserves.”
I thought again of my baby growing up as part of someone else’s life, completely removed from my own, and my stomach twisted. No! I wanted to scream. This was my life. My baby. There was a reason. There had to be a reason.
“Mr. Dietrich . . .” Nate started, and my muscles tensed, knowing what would undoubtedly be coming next.
“I know this is a lot to be hit with all at once, so I don’t expect you to have any immediate answers,” my dad said, plowing on, too absorbed in his own monologue to notice anyone’s reactions. “But six or so months will be over before you know it, and you need to start planning now. Mina may be the one carrying this child, but these decisions clearly involve you, and I’d like to see the two of you make it through this together. You know, I’ve always liked you, Nathaniel, and this doesn’t have to change everything. We all make mistakes, and life is about how you react to those mistakes.” He folded his arms and tilted his head toward Nate, signaling that now, finally, he could take the floor.
“I appreciate everything you’re saying, Mr. Dietrich,” Nate said quietly, “but this is not my child. Without getting graphic, there is absolutely no conceivable, scientifically possible way that this is my child. So you’re wrong. These decisions have nothing to do with me. None of this has anything to do with me, not anymore.” He stood up, looking back down at me with tears spilling from his eyes. I’d never seen Nate cry before.
“Nate, please,” I said, whimpering, as I stood up to face him. “Please believe me. Please give me a chance to prove myself.”
“You’re pregnant, Mina, and I’m not the father,” he said, his voice shaking as he tried to fight back a sob. “How do you think that makes me feel, Mina? I loved you so much, so much, and you . . . How could you do this to me?” The last words came out louder, angrier, and he looked over at my parents, weighing the fact that they were listening to all this. He kept going, though, clearly unable to leave without telling me exactly what he thought about everything. What he thought about me.
“You cheated on me, Mina, and now you don’t even have the decency to admit you did anything wrong? I can’t believe you—you of all people—would ever be capable of doing something like this. You weren’t having sex with me, but you’d sleep with someone else?” He put a fist to his mouth and looked down at his feet, cheeks flaming red. “You’re disgusting. I don’t want to talk to you ever again. And after we graduate, I never want to have to see your face for the rest of my life.”
Something inside, something deep down and dangerously fragile, collapsed, and I started sobbing. I didn’t care how desperate I looked. I didn’t care that my parents were watching from just a few feet away, jaws dropped, totally unsure of how to respond to a scene that no parent should ever have to witness. I grabbed at Nate’s arms, his T-shirt, his jeans, clawing at some small piece of him to hold on to, some small piece to keep for myself—until I looked up, straight into his eyes, and saw them burning with a hatred I’d never have been able to imagine him feeling about anything or anyone in the world. I had to step back, my whole body scorched from his glare. My fingertips were numb where they’d last grazed his skin, and the feeling was spreading up through my arms and across my chest, into my heart.
“Good-bye, Mr. Dietrich, Mrs. Dietrich. I’m sorry I can’t help you. And I’m sorry it had to end like this.” He started for the front door and I stumbled after him, my mind still racing to think of something I could do, something I could say to make this any less final.
“Nate,” I said, grabbing on to his shoulder. He flinched and shook me off, but I realized that I still needed to ask him one favor—one incredibly important favor—before he left me.
“Nate, wait,” I said, gasping. “I just have one thing to ask. And then I’ll let you go, I promise. I won’t bother you. I’ll leave you alone.” He stopped moving, but he didn’t turn around to face me.
“What, Mina? What could you possibly have to ask me?”
“Please don’t tell anyone about this. Please let me figure out how I’m going to explain this to everyone at school.”
“You didn’t have to ask. I’m not going to run around telling everyone that you’re pregnant with some other guy’s baby. It doesn’t exactly make me look good either, does it?”
I nodded in gratitude, relieved, before remembering that he still had his back to me. “Thank you, Nate. I really appreciate that.”
“Whatever, Mina. It’s your business. But you won’t be able to hide this for long. It’s going to be obvious to everyone soon enough that you’re pregnant, so good luck figuring that story out. Good luck with your baby and good luck with life.” He pushed open the screen door and stomped across the porch, head down, eyes fixed on the ground.
I stood there for a moment, stuck in the doorway, unable to pull my eyes away from him until he disappeared entirely.
“Mina?” a small, hushed voice called out from somewhere outside, just beyond the door. The sound was so familiar, but I couldn’t label it, not instantly, because it had no place in that moment. My hand rose to my lips in panic, and I bit down on my fingertips.
“Gracie?” No, please, no. Don’t be there. I imagined that voice. Please let me have imagined that voice.
“Mina . . .” she said again, stepping out into the soft twilight glow of the porch. “Why did Nate just say that you’re having a baby? Is it true? Are you really pregnant?” Her big crystal blue eyes were wide and watery, staring up at me, waiting for my answer.
My aunt Vera shifted from the shadows just beyond my vision and stood next to Gracie, putting her hands on Gracie’s shoulders to keep her steadied.
“Mina, oh God, I’m so sorry . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt. I should have called before I dropped her off. I didn’t know—I thought you had a stomach bug, and I figured you knew I’d be bringing her home sometime this evening . . .”
“Mina?” Gracie asked again, her little voice faltering. I could see her petal pink lips trembling, but she was fighting her tears, holding out for whatever I was about to say.
“Gracie?”
I jumped at the sudden sound of my mom’s voice. I turned around to see her and my dad standing just a few feet behind me, their faces looking as horrified as I felt.
“Somebody tell me what’s happening,” Gracie demanded, sounding older and more grown-up than I’d ever heard her before.
I didn’t want her to have to be older and more grown-up. Not because of me.
“Gracie . . .” my dad started, pushing me aside to be closer to her. “We’re not talking about this right now, sweetie. I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’re ready for this conversation.”
“Stop, Dad. Just stop,” I said, stooping down so that I was at Gracie’s height. “There’s no point in keeping it a secret. Gracie, it’s true. I am pregnant. And it’s not Nate’s baby, it’s not anyone’s baby but mine.”
“Mina, don’t tell her this nonsense!” my dad yelled. “You’re going to confuse her!”
I put my hands on Gracie’s shoulders and pulled her toward me. “This sounds crazy, but I think that this baby might be some kind of miracle, Gracie.”
It was the first time I’d said the word out loud, the first time I tried it against my lips. “A miracle,” I said again, letting the word sink in. “I don’t know why it happened to me, but it has, and I just want you to trust me and have faith in me. Even if that takes a little time for you to come to, I’ll be here. Okay?”
She stared at me, completely silent and unreadable. Everyone else on the porch was frozen in place, waiting for her to react.
“Okay,” she said at last, her strawberry-blonde pigtails bobbing as she nodded at me, a very solemn look spreading over her rosy freckled face.
“Okay?” I asked, still waiting to take my next breath.
She stepped in closer to me, so close that the tips of our noses were practically touching. So close that I could see one small tear slowly rolling down her cheek.
“You’re my big sister, Mina, and for you, I’ll believe in miracles.”
