Sisters in the Wind(78)

God is perfect. The rest of us are flawed. We do our best but fall short far too often.





WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN


2007

Devery was at my side when I told Missus that I was pregnant. By then it was early October, and I had begun my second trimester.

“Oh my,” Missus said, as if needing to catch her breath. “Well, I think any baby news is a blessing, but the most important part is how you feel about it.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be a parent, but I want to have a healthy baby,” I told her.

She smiled brightly. It caught me off guard, the genuine happiness coming from her like sunbeams.

“Well, we can certainly figure it all out in due time. Speaking of which, do you know how far along?” she asked.

“Fourteen weeks,” Devery chimed. “In fruit, it’s a peach. In animals, it’s the size of a house mouse. In weird objects, it’s the size of an extra-large egg.” She nudged me. “This one doesn’t like the fruit comparisons.”

“First, we need to inform your caseworker. Then, we can schedule a medical appointment. How does that sound?” Missus was positively giddy.

I said it sounded fine. There had been a distance between Missus and me since Boyd died. She was polite and said all the right things. But she lacked a maternal warmth that I had thought was innate to her. I had said as much to Devery, who’d scoffed at me.

“I’ll take your word for it, Clancy, but she seems mom-ish to me.”

Missus offered to walk with me each morning after breakfast. We strolled down the driveway and along the country road to the stop sign intersecting with a paved street. The leaves fluttered down prettily as if pacing for a long autumn. All it took was one gusty weekend to go from picturesque to bare.

I told Jennifer, Lexi, and Joy before announcing it at the dinner table. Everyone was happy, if not extremely surprised by the news. A teen pregnancy was sort of routine at Hoppy Farm. After all, Boyd had called it a baby farm. The shocker was that it had happened to me.

When I told Jennifer, she asked for permission to put her hand on my belly.

I nodded. Her hand was cold, but it felt good since I tended to sweat more these days.

“I miss being pregnant,” Jennifer commented quietly.

“You were pregnant?” I asked before wanting to kick myself for lack of tact. It was obvious she didn’t have a biological child, so something must have happened.

“Yes. I arrived at the farm pregnant.” When she saw my eyes widen, as I recalled her mention having been at the farm since she was thirteen, she patted her hand on my belly. “Yes. I was thirteen. Much too young. There were complications. Probably right from the start. But it made me want to learn what I could to help other girls. Sometimes it’s just about providing comfort until trained medical providers can arrive.”

“You really love it here?” I asked.

“Yes. I didn’t think I could love anything more than I loved the safety of the farm. Then I fell in love with Allen and couldn’t imagine loving my life any more. Then along came Allen Junior. I’d be happy to never leave.”

I relaxed so thoroughly in her presence that I farted.

“I’m sorry,” I said through peals of laughter.

“Believe it or not, Lucy, I even miss that.” She looked down as if unsure about speaking her mind. “I know you’re planning on adoption, but don’t deny yourself any of these little moments. Trust me when I say it will bring more comfort than regret.”

I wanted to call Emily with the news, but knew she would ask if Diego was the father. Everyone thought he had run away. I knew the truth but had no idea how to tell anyone.

As for Tonya, I was disappointed she hadn’t called like she had promised. Then I remembered that she had a friend with a distinctive name. Maia Something-Collarelli. I typed various spellings of Maia and Collarelli before finding a Maia Cooper-Collarelli on Facebook and a phone number with a Lansing area code. I tried the number first, hoping to avoid joining Facebook.

“Yes, hello,” I said when a woman answered. “I’m looking for Maia Cooper-Collarelli.”

“This is she,” a hesitant person said.

Maia waited for me to continue.

“I’m a friend of Tonya Maxwell. Has she reached out to you lately?”

There was a loud crack followed by some commotion that must have been Maia fumbling to pick up a dropped phone.

“What the fuck is your problem!” she yelled. “No, my dead friend hasn’t reached out to me because she’s dead, you asshole.”

There was a click followed by a dial tone.

Stunned, I stared at the phone for several minutes. There had to be an explanation. I typed Tonya’s name and found an obituary. She’d died of a drug overdose a week after leaving the farm.

Tonya had told me she’d been taken away from her mom because her mom was a junkie. Tonya never talked about drugs. At the bonfires, she’d drink hard cider. She’d nurse one, making it last all night. She’d never joined Lexi, who would smoke a blunt.

I returned to my bedroom. Lexi was engrossed in the latest issue of Vogue.

“Lex,” I started. Despite trying to keep my voice steady, it quaked. “Tonya died.”

Her head snapped up and her eyes bugged out. Her jaw dropped.