Page 44 of The Lookback

Great. An orderly’s worried about me now. “I’m fine,” I snap.

“If you could just move your car, then there’s a waiting room you can go to.” He points.

My car.

Of course.

I’m nodding when the double doors fly open and Will comes shooting through, his eyes frantic and his breathing wild. “Where is she?”

Abby points, and then he’s gone as fast as he appeared, consumed by the room where all the howling went to die, and now that orderly is gawking at me again. “Fine,” I say. “Fine. I’ll move my car.”

Before I can put the key in the ignition, Abby’s hand stops me. “Let me do it.” She’s calm, she’s steady, and she’s absolutely insistent. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’m sure you’re not safe to drive.”

I start bawling, then.

I’m not sure whether it’s the stress of Donna’s labor, or the miserably long drive to get here in lousy weather, or my worry for the obvious misery of a friend. Donna and I may not be that close, but I don’t have many friends. I can’t risk losing the ones I do have.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely. It could be hormones. How embarrassing.

Whatever the cause, I’m suddenly sobbingandhyperventilating.

“Helen, what is going on?” Abby tucks my keys into her pocket and yanks me to my feet, and then her arms wrap around me. “Something is wrong, and I’m not moving until you tell me what it is.”

“I’m pregnant,” I say. “Or at least, some crazy woman who took a blood test earlier says I am.”

Abby freezes. “Surely you’ve been using some kind of contraceptive.”

“Of course,” I say. “I mean, I’m almost forty-five. The OB told me I didn’t likely even need one anymore, but I have a Mirena—that’s an IUD they?—”

“I know what it is,” Abby says, but she doesn’t look better. She looks even more concerned.

“What?”

“Let’s get the car parked.” She shoves me just a bit toward the passenger side, and I finally go.

She says nothing as she drives, slowly in light of the quickly accumulating snow, but once she reaches the parking lot, she pulls into a space and kills the engine. She doesn’t turn toward me or interrogate me. She just sits there, staring at the steering wheel.

“Just say whatever you want to say.” I’m not sure why I’m so upset. It’s not like I’m keeping it. Surely Abigail knows that, too.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know you don’t want to be pregnant.” She turns toward me slowly, then. “But you should get an ultrasound to confirm that test. It could be a chemical pregnancy, or worse, an ectopic one. I think they’re common in people who have a Mirena. It blocks the fallopian tubes, if I remember it right. The doctors would need to do something quickly if it is ectopic, or your tube could burst and you could die.”

She’s finally talking to me, and I can’t seem to do anything but stare at my hands. “Isn’t this where you tell me that a baby is a life in being and that’s a miracle?”

“Do you want me to tell you that I think abortion is wrong?” Abby asks.

I shake my head.

And my little sister, who in her entire life has never once kept her mouth shut, just shrugs. “All right, then.”

“Come on. I’m ready for it. I didn’t want to tell you, but now you know, so you may as well say it.”

“Helen, we had the same parents, but you and I are very different people. In the gaping vacuum that was our family, I sought some kind of meaning and purpose and found God in my search. You found a different kind of peace. I’d never try to judge you for what you found or what you believe.”

“But you think abortion is wrong.”

“I love you, and I know this is hard, and I supportyou.” She drops her hand over mine. “I always will. It’s not my baby, and it’s not my body, and I love you. I think that’s the part that matters most.”

That makes me bawl. Bawl, and bawl, and bawl some more. “I was thinking about breaking up with David because he wants kids and I don’t. And then this happened.”

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