The doctor sighed as if she’d seen this too often. “Well. You still have some time. Though a lot less on the abortion. Think about things, and if you have any questions, give us a call, okay?”
When Evangeline didn’t answer, the doctor leaned in, fixed her gaze sternly on her, and said, “We’re talking about your life here.”
Evangeline nodded. “Yeah. All right.”
* * *
—
RETURNING TO RECEPTION, she was startled to find Isaac waiting for her. When he’d scheduled the appointment, she’d offered to walk, but he insisted on driving, saying it was high time she learned to rely on an adult. That made her laugh. And she hadn’t thought for a second he would stay. She’d been gone forty minutes at least.
His face looked expectant, but she couldn’t read it beyond that. He was an odd one, Isaac, so slow to speak, everything bottled up in him, that terrible grief pressing a bluish tinge through his skin. Last night, she’d finally told him she knew about his son. She thought she’d explode otherwise, watching him twisting around, not knowing how to say it.
She’d said, “I heard about your son. I’m sorry.” A small convulsion like a shock, but he kept staring at the pork chop he picked at. After a moment, he said to the fried meat, “It’s good you know.” Nothing more after that. Another silent meal, another silent cleanup. It wasn’t as bad as you’d think. She was getting used to it, and there wasn’t anything in it directed at her.
As they drove out of the lot, Isaac didn’t speak, but she knew he was dying to know, that only his strange reticence stopped him from asking.
“She says I’m pregnant. Like that was news.”
He drove another block, then said, “Any idea how far along?”
“She said about six weeks.” Evangeline reviewed the paperwork. “This has a due date of June ninth. The doctor listened with the Doppler thing and didn’t hear the baby’s heartbeat. I guess that’s normal this early. Sometimes they do an ultrasound to pin down the date, but it’s expensive and she didn’t see the need.”
Evangeline wondered if he realized she’d gotten pregnant right before his son was murdered. Maybe he did, because his face had gone blank. He’d fallen so far back into his mind, was so unseeing of what was before him that she almost grabbed the wheel.
That night they shared another mostly silent meal, another silent cleanup, only this time the silence was uneasy. She had her own inner disturbance, but there was a new disruption in Isaac as well.
On her way to bed, she paused by the stairwell door. A strange notion rose that it wasn’t so much her pregnancy that was troubling him as the removal of the chair. She reached toward the handle, thinking she’d clear up the mystery that lived in this house. But her hand stopped halfway and dropped back to her side.
She had promised Isaac she wouldn’t open the door. For some reason, this was one of the rare promises she felt inclined to keep.
17
Peter would have granted me more leave, but the days had piled one on top of another, over a month now, and already they’d become a wall nearly too high to scale. If I didn’t return on Monday, I probably never would.
Evangeline was to start the same day. She had insisted on checking the box that said “Junior,” though I’d warned her she might be desperately behind. It wasn’t until Sunday evening that she began to fret, asking if the teachers were nice, if they’d give her a break. The next morning, I offered to drive her, but she refused, promising to walk the mile herself. Despite her new outfits, she wore her old jeans and red sweater. As I watched her march down the drive, her new backpack stuffed to bursting, I thought, That’s the last I’ll see of her.
After she disappeared from sight, I managed only a few bites of toast before I grabbed my keys and rushed to my car. I had to find her. Twenty minutes later I pulled into the school’s lot, having followed the most logical route and circled others. There’d been no sign of her. I told myself the girl was gone, that it was for the best, yet a paralysis claimed my arms, left me unable to open the car door.
Jackson Matthews and Wyatt Berg, football teammates, stood outside the school’s front doors, chatting and smiling at the girls, no different from any other day. I’d prepared to feel angry at the living, at the way life refuses to stop for death. But the students were innocents in this. It was the building itself that infuriated me. With its poor ventilation and mold, its crumbling bricks and swollen windowsills, it indicted all of us, practically shouting, All the failed school levies! Such reckless indifference to the well-being of your children! How had we grown so selfish? When had we begun not to care? No wonder children were lost.
I managed to escape my car and push toward those students who had this day and tomorrow and the next before them. Jackson and Wyatt stopped mid-word when I passed, as if I’d caught them in a cruelty. As I entered the building, the bustling, noisy heat of teenagers, the shouts across hallways, the bursts of laughter and banging lockers collected in a wave before me, a concentrated aliveness that threatened to drown me. A few students noticed me and fell silent. Whispers rose and rippled, and there was a general sweeping to the sides.
Opposite the front doors, at the counter of the main office, Peter stood talking to Carol Marsten, the new vice principal. With the atmospheric drop, his head jerked in my direction, and he swung around the counter.
“Isaac!” He had to yell, because I’d dashed down the hall.
When I stopped, he jogged up, his purple tie flopping against his blue dress shirt. He pulled me into an empty classroom, gave me a quizzical look. “Were you running away from me?”
I shrugged, unable to explain myself.
“If I’ve done anything—”
“No. No, you haven’t. I just . . . It’s just that there’s . . . so much.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “So damned much.” He shifted. “I’ve been worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Damn it, Isaac, don’t be sorry. That’s the last thing I want. Just talk to me, okay? What’s going on? You wouldn’t see me last week. And this morning, I learn from Carol that you registered a new girl to start today—”
“Is she here?”
His head cocked. “Not that I know of. Didn’t you bring her?”
“She insisted on walking.”
“Is she a niece or something? Anything I can help with?”
Before I could answer, the warning bell rang. “I know you’ve got to go,” he said. “If you get a chance, stop by the office before you head home.”
I said I would try and started down the hall. Dick Nelson, a jovial social studies teacher, patted my shoulder solemnly as he walked by. Someone touched my arm, and I turned to find Connie Swanson, her face more florid and blustery than usual. Though her chemistry classroom adjoined mine, she’d been strangely absent from Daniel’s search parties. Now she blinked back tears and produced a pitiful moan before turning in embarrassment.
As I watched Connie escape, I wondered why someone her age and weight would choose such a short, tight skirt. Strange what’s left behind when all that matters is scraped away.