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“Would you like one now?”
“I’d love to, but I have an errand to run before I go past Mr. Martin and Corinne.”
Clicking her tongue, she says, “We don’t have to be so formal. Why don’t you just call me Antoinette like all my friends do?”
The unspoken implication that she considers me a friend is touching. “All right. I’ll see you soon, Antoinette.”
She tells me to wait while she runs to the kitchen and fetches a bag of cookies for Sophie. Not having the heart to tell her that I have no idea when I’ll see Sophie again, I thank her and leave before she sees the turmoil that must show on my face.
My next stop is at the pharmacy. Mrs. Campana utters a shriek when I enter.
“Oh my, Sabella. Where on Earth have you been?”
I tell her about Sophie’s measles.
“It’s a good thing you had measles when you were young,” she says when I finished my story.
A customer enters. I step aside for Mrs. Campana to help the lady, pretending to browse the vitamins.
Once we’re alone again, Mrs. Campana gives me a quizzical look. “Do you need something?”
“Actually, I do.” I approach the counter. “A pregnancy test.”
Her eyes grow round behind her glasses. It takes her a moment to hide her reaction, but she doesn’t quite pull off her usual professional expression. “How late are you?”
“My period isn’t due for another two to three weeks.”
“It’ll be too early then,” she muses. “You better wait the full three weeks before using the test.” She opens a drawer under the counter, takes out a packet, and puts it in front of me. “To be sure, you should go to the laboratory in Bastia for a blood test.”
I hide my discomfort by fishing the money I earned from Mr. Martin from my pocket.
When she’s rung up my purchase, she hands me a bag and my change. “Are you planning a family?” She probes more gently, “Is this what you want?” Then she shakes her head. “Forgive me. It’s none of my business.”
“That’s all right.” My smile is meek. Not knowing how to explain, I settle for, “I didn’t plan this.”
She leans over the counter and pats my arm. “Don’t worry. You’re not the first couple who had a slip-up. You may not be pregnant.”
My throat is too thick to speak. I can only nod my gratitude for her support.
“If you’re not pregnant, get a prescription for birth control from your doctor asap,” she says. “And no more slip-ups until the birth control is effective. You’re so young still.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“Please keep me posted. If there’s anything I can do, you know where to find me.”
“I appreciate that.”
Her compassionate look follows me to the door. I’m glad to escape into the mild winter’s day.
At home, I hide the test in an evening clutch bag that I shove into the back of a drawer in the dressing room.
I think about little else until Heidi shows up the next day to deliver groceries as well as a phone and a charger. Angelo’s number is programmed on the phone.
“In case of an emergency,” she says. “See? I told you Mr. Russo would get you a phone.”
What she doesn’t mention but we both know is that I can only dial his number. All other numbers are off limits.
The look she gives me says that it’s a start, but I’m not in the habit of lying to myself, so I ask her for news about the kids to change the subject.
