Sisters in the Wind(80)

“Oh my … Lucy Smith?” It was Mrs. Sobecki. Her initial happy surprise of recognition was followed by a second look. I watched her expression falter as she took in my spiky hair, assorted piercings, tattoos, and bulging belly. She tried to hide her shock but the searing disappointment was too much.

I didn’t know what to say. My life’s taken a turn since my dad died didn’t seem the appropriate icebreaker.

Mrs. Sobecki solved the issue by averting her eyes and excusing herself. She racewalked in the blush-colored sneakers to the counter. She must have handed over cash, because the worker called out, “You forgot your change, ma’am.”

I watched as Mrs. Sobecki sobbed into her hands before starting her car and driving away. Distraught at the sight of sweet Lucy Smith, the orphaned, pregnant teen tragedy.

As if the day couldn’t get more peculiar, the air felt heavy and took on a pale-sage hue. There had been an outbreak of tornadoes the day before from Texas to Missouri. So when the sky seemed strange, I decided to watch another movie instead of being in a car. When I finally made my way back late that night, I listened to radio stations reporting multiple tornadoes in northern Michigan. The storm had been too close for comfort; one of the outbuildings at Hoppy Farm was damaged.

When Devery visited on Saturday, she hung out with me. Bruce needed to help his dad and brother clean up the damage from Thursday’s storm. We stayed in Bruce’s suite, sitting next to each other on the sofa. I’d found a VHS copy of The Trouble with Angels at a thrift store in Gaylord. I was excited to share the blast from our past with Devery.

The last time we watched it had been during a snowstorm a few weeks before Miss Lonnie’s cabin had burned. In mid-autumn this kind of weather wasn’t unusual in northern Michigan, especially for an island perfectly located for lake-effect snow. But that first snowfall had been extreme—three feet accumulated in one day. Devery complained about “the hell of winter” starting all over again. I had wanted to remain on Beaver Island, but the early blizzard had angered her enough to abandon the movie and scream into her pillow. Each furious shriek reduced my hope and made me anxious about our inevitable separation. I began tugging at my cowlick bangs, sometimes hard enough to rip strands at the root.

But here we were, reunited. Watching the origin story of our nicknames, this time, while Devery folded Bruce’s laundry. Who was this version of my sister?

“Were the opening credits always so corny?” she wondered, retrieving a white T-shirt from the heaping laundry basket.

“Devery, remember when you said some group homes were more fun than others?”

“Yes. All true.”

“I think this place is more weird than fun. Did you ever read the book Watership Down?”

“Is Gerard Butler in the movie version?”

I laughed. “No. It’s a book about rabbits. They’re roaming around and they find this perfect field with plenty of carrots and no enemies. One rabbit knows something’s off but can’t figure out what. It’s like it’s too easy. There’s no struggle like everywhere else they’ve been. Finally, the rabbit figures it out. A farmer is leaving all the food for the rabbits. He wants to fatten them up, so they’ll be easier to snare.”

“What are you getting at, Clancy? Out with it.”

Just then, the baby kicked my bladder, and I felt a dribble of pee.

“Hold up,” I said. “Pee emergency.”

I rose slowly but walked quickly to Bruce’s bathroom. It was extremely tidy. Devery hadn’t taken to Miss Lonnie’s cleaning tutorials the way I had. It was obvious that Bruce liked everything in its place.

I called out to Devery.

“Boyd called this place a baby farm. I know Mister and Missus foster a lot of pregnant teens. But I was thinking about the girls like me and Tonya.”

I saw a tube of Preparation H on top of the toilet tank. It was the only item that seemed out of place. Everything else was lined up with military precision.

“We have plenty of food,” I said, returning to the sofa. “We do enough physical labor to keep us strong and healthy. We get playtime. Nighttime bonfires. Wine and weed. No skeevy foster parents trying to mess with us. And just enough unsupervised time so that some of us can hook up.”

“But the rabbits were food,” Devery said, folding pristine white briefs.

“Babies are the product. For adoption.”

“So, what about it? You want to give your baby up. Missus is helping you. Nothing sinister about that.”

“Boyd said he got a bonus. Not for Tonya’s baby, because that one needed to be legal. But he got five thousand dollars for getting a girl named Christina pregnant.”

“That’s not a bad stud fee,” Devery said. “What do you think Bruce’s mom will give you for your bambino or bambina?”

“She hasn’t said anything about that,” I said. “But I looked up the adoption laws in Michigan. Birth moms can get all their medical expenses covered and living expenses before and after giving birth. That’s what Tonya got—living expenses when she aged out and left the farm. But she was also going to get a car. She didn’t work lots of hours like I do. She didn’t have that kind of money saved.”

“Sounds hella sketchy. But what are you getting at?” Devery asked.

“What sort of people pay illegal costs to adopt babies? What does it say about Mister and Missus that they’re involved in something like that?” It didn’t need to be said, but I said it anyway. “Don’t say anything to Bruce. I just wanted to tell you because I’m not sure about going through the Hoppys for the adoption. But I don’t know how to get around it. Missus is finally being nice to me again.”