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I was met at the door by Mrs. Hawthorne. She took one look at me and then gave a nod of approval. Thank God for my sister Tanya and her impeccable skills borne of years fussing with her own hair and make-up and watching YouTube tutorials.
“Finally, one of you arrives looking acceptable.” She ushered me inside and quickly led me up a back staircase to a preparatory room.
While a doctor examined me in a small, spare room on the second floor of the manor, white walls with dark wood floors, empty except for a twin bed, Mrs. Hawthorne grilled me about why I was here and what I hoped to gain if I was chosen.
I was nervous, and when I was nervous, I chattered.
So, I told her all about my sisters. “I’m here for my family. Well, my sisters. I’m the oldest and then there’s Tanya, Reba, and LeAnn. My mama loved country music stars, so she insisted on naming her babies after them.”
Mrs. Hawthorne looked confused, and I figured maybe it was because she was Scottish, or so I assumed based on her accent, so I explained further. “You know, Tanya Tucker, Reba McIntyre, LeAnn Rimes? They were all big country stars in the eighties and nineties.”
“So is Portia a star’s name, too?” she asked in her lilting accent.
“No,” I looked down. “My daddy named me.” An uncomfortable reminder that I had more of my no-good father in me than any of my sweet sisters. His unsettled spirit, his wanderlust, always itching to be anywhere else but where he was—I inherited it all as a pig loves a mud-bath on a hot summer day.
Even the name he gave me—he meant for it to be Porsche, like the damn car, but at least Mama intervened and wrote it in a more dignified spelling on the birth certificate. Even when naming his own damn kid he’d already been dreaming about driving off into the sunset and leaving his family behind.
Unlike him, though, when the going got tough, I stayed.
I would always stay and fight for my family. No matter what. Because Portia? When I finally looked up what that spelling of the name meant? It stood for: An offering. And yes, I would offer my life for my family, happily. Every time.
“Anyway,” I continued on brightly. I’d decided a long time ago not to dwell on sad things I couldn’t change. “My sisters are the best. I’d do anything for them.”
Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyebrows narrowed as the doctor worked the speculum beneath the sheet set up to cover my bottom half. I jumped a little at the cold metal but otherwise it wasn’t too uncomfortable. The doctor was female, and I appreciated that. She was quiet and had a gentle touch.
“So, you’re here for them?”
I nodded, trying to relax. “We’re about to get kicked out of the trailer and my sisters, well, they depend on me for a lot of reasons.”
I went on and explained everything, and Mrs. Hawthorne got real quiet.
“They just cut off our electricity again, and we’re a month behind on rent after Reba lost her temp job. Then Tanya went and quit working her fast-food job when her boss wouldn’t stop making passes at her.”
I bit my lip and tried not to shift as the doctor opened the speculum wider inside me. “We were just down to LeAnn’s afterschool job bagging groceries, but she’s just fourteen and can’t get a ton of hours, and it’s just minimum wage anyway. My job doing eldercare assistance—well, I just never had a chance to go to college obviously, so it’s not like official nursing or anything.” I shook my head. “And the bills just keep piling up…”
My family was my responsibility, and I was failing them.
The doctor finished up and left the room without interrupting us.
“Listen here, lassie.” Mrs. Hawthorne sat on the bed beside me as I cradled the sheet to cover myself.
“I love these boys like my own kin. The man who’ll be doing the choosing, he’s a little… rough around the edges. Deep down, he’s a good boy. I can’t say much more than that, but he could use a woman like you to keep him on an even keel through this. You could help each other. Tell him why you’re here. It’ll help.”
She was talking like she thought I actually had a chance at this. It brought back that little bud of hope I’d barely dared spread any sunshine on.
Could this really be it? Salvation dropped from the sky? Or at least in the form of a stranger in a tux knocking on a door a couple nights ago with an oddly formal invitation, followed today by an extravagant dress and limo?
The truth was, we were out of options. This was our last Hail Mary pass. We’d been riding the edge of the poverty for a few years now, ever since—
