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I pause for a second. “I need some money, Christian.”
He eyes me suspiciously. “You don’t have any money?” I do my best to look embarrassed as I shake my head and lower my eyes to my lap. I am bone tired but I’ve been conditioned from years of experience to never to let my guard down. I know my brother. If he thinks I have more than a few bucks to my name, he’ll be pulling off to the side of the road and rummaging through my things the second I nod off. “What have you been doing with all your tip money?”
“Used it all,” I whisper, covering my flat belly with one hand. “He—”
Christian runs both hands through his hair, tugging on it. I brace myself, waiting for the blow. He shoves my shoulder once, so hard my head hits into the window, and then reaches over and jerks my head back, tugging on my ponytail. “He what, Charlotte? He said he’d take care of you? Are you really that stupid?” He’s hollering now. “He’s a Wade! They’re all trash!” Christian gives me another shove, but this one has no power behind it. He digs into his pocket and fishes out a twenty, tossing it in my direction without looking at me. Stroking his left knee absently, he stares straight ahead. “If I had my way, all three of them would be in the ground.”
“Where are we?” I ask, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.
“Michigan.”
Looking at the dashboard clock, I figure we’ve been on the road for over ten hours already. “Where does Aunt Janelle live?”
“Michigan.”
Asshole.I’m not going to get more than that out of Christian, so I dig my phone out of my bag. No search results for a Janelle Mason in Michigan. She’s probably married though; we wouldn’t share the same last name.Where in the hell am I going?The anger comes on like a flash, but quickly morphs into a sadness that’s now firmly lodged in my chest.
Checking my messages, I see only one text from Daisy. It’s not like I’m expecting anything from him. No, Simon has been in full-on ghost mode. Not a word since August fifth, the date I think about twenty-four seven. In the predawn hours of August fifth I gave him everything, and since coming to realize that something was most definitely not right, I’ve been in the habit of counting the days and weeks from August fifth obsessively.
What’s up stranger?I don’t reply because I cannot even fashion an answer to that question right now. We’ve barely spoken all summer, but now that school is back in session Daisy is reaching out to me again. She knows how to do this, knows how to make friends and keep them. But I’m a hopeless case, more content to sit alone in the library than to socialize with her and Sarah in the cafeteria or study hall. She probably thinks I’m just heartsick or something, just missing Simon. And I am heartsick, but my sadness is compounded by terror, panic and bouts of anger. So it’s better if I just stay away. It’s not like she can be my confidant. I can’t go to her for advice or a shoulder to cry on.
I wonder what Daisy will do when Monday turns to Tuesday, when this week turns to next week and then next month. Will Daisy ask questions, look for me? Will anyone?
At that moment it clicks into place. I see Miss Dawson walking into Mr. Vargas’s office. Did she set this all in motion? On Friday morning she called me down to her classroom. I didn’t bother to show up for Dance Ensemble tryouts the first week of school, and she’s been on my case ever since.
When I explain for the third time in two weeks that I have too much schoolwork to do, she confronts me. “Schoolwork, huh? I’m not buying it. With all that extra study time you should be acing your classes, but you’re not. We’re only a month into the school year and your teachers are expressing concerns.” I meet her eyes, nonplussed. I simply do not give a flip because I am so damn tired—allthe time. “Your math teacher says you’ve barely scraped by on the first few quizzes and your English teacher says you haven’t handed in the last two assignments. What the hell is going on, Charlotte?”
I tug on the bra strap digging into my shoulder—a tactical error. My stomach is still flat, but I think my boobs have grown a full cup size over the past few weeks. She looks to where the fabric of my shirt strains over my chest and then her eyes soften.
“You can trust me.”
I can’t trust or depend on anyone but myself. I’ve long since believed that, but the past several weeks have confirmed my views on trust. I breathe in through my nose and look out the window. The silence is thick.
“All the girls ask me about this tattoo, everyone except you.” She reaches back with both hands and fixes an elastic around her long hair, making a top knot. One finger traces over the spot on her neck, the bird. “I always feed them the same generic line…That’s it’s about change, taking flight, and that the date signifies a turning point in my life.” Now she has my attention. “I don’t tell them anything more.” She pauses, her finger still caressing that spot. “During my sophomore year of college I got pregnant.”
I’m surprised but I don’t show it. My face is stone. Sure, I’ve been more emotional these past few weeks, but I am still Charlotte Mason through and through. I typically don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. And knowing Miss Dawson is just aching for me to break down and confide in her? That alone strengthens my resolve to give her nothing. Still, this decision is weighing on me like a ticking time bomb, so I don’t hold back from asking, “What did you do?”
“I felt like I had no one…Couldn’t tell my parents.” She’s working the similar circumstances angle.Nice try, lady. “And the guy…Let’s just say I didn’t know him all that well.” She cracks a sad smile. “I’m counting on you not to judge me.” I shake my head, reassuring her. “So…I fretted and waited until my days were literally numbered. I knew I had to make a decision. I considered everything, and I was very close to having an abortion, but I wound up carrying the baby to term. I lied to everyone. I told my parents I was cramming in extra classes and stayed in my off-campus apartment alone for the summer.” She rubs at her eyes. “I had to call myself a cab for the hospital when my water broke.” She looks to gauge my reaction, and even though I can barely draw breath I hold it together. “My baby…I gave her up for adoption.”
I am furious with myself as I reach up to bat one hot tear off my cheek. Just the wordherdoes it to me. What is growing inside of me? A boy or a girl?Stop it, I tell myself as I school my expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Dawson.”
“Call me Grace.”
“Um, okay. I’m really sorry for what happened to you, but why are you telling me all this?”
“I just want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”
“Thanks,” I stand, “but really, I’m fine.” Miss Dawson stays in her chair, studying me. As I reach for the doorknob, I turn back to her, unable to curb my now desperate need to know. “What happened to her, to your baby?”
“She lives with a family in New Jersey. The parents seem very nice. They’re wealthy from what I can tell. You know, the kind of people who can give a child every advantage.” In response to the question in my eyes, she says, “The adoption was open, and I spoke with them several times before I made the decision final. I know where they are but I’ve promised not to interfere in their lives. She’s growing up knowing she’s adopted but it will be her decision whether or not she wants to find me someday.”
I turn back towards the door, unable to face her when I ask, “Did you make the right decision?”
She barks out a cheerless laugh, and it feels like a direct hit to my gut. “I don’t know. I’ve had a decade to reflect on it and I’m still not sure. Maybe there is norightdecision. Every option has consequences that weigh on you for years. It’s still painful, I can tell you that much. I just know I would have been better off if I had someone to lean on at the time.”
She lets that last sentence hang in the air. I want to tell her. The words are rushing up with my breath, pushing against my lips, begging to be let out in the open. I don’t dare turn back to face her. “Like I said, Miss Dawson, I’m fine.”
No, she couldn’t know for sure that I was pregnant, and even so, I can’t bring myself to believe she would out me to my guidance counselor, to my father or to anyone else.
