She wondered if it was a boy or a girl.
She wondered if it was hard to take care of a baby.
She wondered if people would look at her like she was a slut.
She wondered if John would disown her, and if he did, what access she would have to the trust fund her father had left her.
She wondered what Patricia would say.And Marcy.And Hillary.
She wondered where Cutter was.
As the next two weeks passed, though, she wondered most if she could make it through the semester.The nausea was nearly constant, and no matter how much she slept, she was tired.She didn’t dare let up on her schoolwork lest her grades slip.She didn’t want anyone at school, even her friends, to guess she was pregnant, so she had to deny the symptoms.And although she feared that something was wrong, since she was so sick, she feared seeing a doctor more.She was still underage.A doctor would report back to John.
The matter was taken out of her hands during the first week in March, when, rising from her chair at the end of Art History, she passed out cold.When she came to, she was on the floor, looking up at a ring of concerned faces.She struggled up, and might have convinced those around her that she was fine, had the headmaster not been passing by.He insisted that she be taken to the infirmary.Worse, he called John, who deemed it important enough to pick her up and take her to his personal physician.
“You look like hell,” he said on the way there, and she knew she did.Shefeltlike hell.Pregnant women were supposed to be radiant, but the only thing she radiated was exhaustion.Something was wrong.She was nearlyas frightened for the baby as she was about John finding out she was pregnant.One scenario after another raced through her mind.By the time they reached the doctor’s office, she was a bundle of nerves.
The first thing the doctor did was give her a sedative.When it had taken effect enough to silence her protests, he gave her the kind of examination the doctor at school hadn’t thought to give.When he was finished, he removed her feet from the stirrups, covered her shivering body with a blanket, and left the room.
She was lying with an arm thrown over her eyes when the door opened again, then closed, and she knew the moment of judgment had come.She wished she felt up to it, but the world seemed vaguely distant.Still, she tried to steel herself for a fight.
“You’ve really done it,” John said in a low, controlled voice.“Three months along.”
Instinct made her deny the charge, albeit weakly.“He didn’t do any tests.He can’t be sure.”
“He doesn’t have to do tests.Not this late.He saw.”
She swallowed tightly.The nausea was there, but it, too, seemed distant.
“Is it his?”John asked.
She thought of denying it, but she didn’t have the strength.Besides, one part of her was furious at Cutter for not being with her just then.“Yes.”
“Didn’t you use anything?”
“Once we didn’t.”
“That’s all it takes.”
She was aware of feeling lighter—perhaps from the sedative, perhaps from sheer relief that the secret was outand she was still alive.John didn’t sound as angry as she had thought he would be.
“When was it?”he asked.
“December.Early December.”
“Have you seen him since?”
She swallowed.“No.”
“Are you sure?”
Annoyed that he was prodding right where she hurt, she took her arm from her eyes.“I can’tfindhim.He’s gone.He doesn’t even know about the baby.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s not good.It’s his baby, too.He should be here with me.”Turning away from him, she tucked up her knees and pulled the blanket to her chin.She felt cold and alone.She should be used to feeling that way, she knew, but the thought didn’t help.The trembling wasn’t from a surface chill.It came from deep inside and was the kind that a blanket couldn’t stop.
“I’ll help you.”