What's Mine and Yours(58)
Noelle didn’t realize she was welling up until Ruth started digging in her robe for tissues. She thrust a crumpled twist of paper under her nose.
“Honey, what’s the matter? This will all blow over, one way or another. Your mom is just agitated right now.”
“It’s not about her. Or school.”
“Go on.”
“I need to set up an appointment at the hospital. Women’s Health? Maybe I could ride with you one day you’re going to work, and you can show me where to go?”
“You need pills or something, honey?”
“I’m past all that.”
Ruth stared at her. It didn’t feel bad to have the woman look at her, and Noelle wasn’t ashamed. All the women she knew were having sex or had had it. And Lacey May hadn’t been much older than Noelle when she’d married Robbie. What she felt instead was trapped, like she’d been cornered into confessing to what everyone did in the dark, as if she were the only one.
“You can’t go to the hospital,” Ruth said. “They won’t be able to help. But there’s a clinic forty minutes away. I’ll take you there. How far along are you anyway? It might be too late.”
Noelle told her how long it had been since her last period, and Ruth squeezed her shoulder.
“That’s good news,” she said. “Don’t you worry. It’s probably no bigger than a prune.”
Noelle let Ruth hold her, and it felt good to be drawn close. She wished Ruth hadn’t said anything about the size. It was easier not to wonder what she thought about it all, the big questions they posed during the debates at school—When does life begin? Where do one person’s rights end and another one’s start? They were questions without answers, as far as she was concerned, but what was clear to her was that she couldn’t have a baby. It would bind her to Lacey May, to Hank, and that house forever. She’d amount to nothing, no one, her life swallowed up before she’d ever had a chance.
She knew Ruth would understand, not only because she was a nurse, but because she’d chosen to be a free woman: to live alone, to raise her boy, to have a career. Even if they weren’t kin, Noelle was struck with pride every time Ruth rose from one of their visits to say, I’ve got to get to my shift. She’d disappear into the bathroom and emerge smelling like roses and hot soap, her face gleaming and red, her eyebrows plucked too thin. She’d pour out fresh coffee into a shiny thermos, kiss Bailey good-bye, and leave him with money for a pizza or instructions on how to warm up his dinner. Lacey May would leave, too, drive them all back to Hank’s house, where she’d sit on the couch with him, watching television and drinking the beers he liked, until she followed him into their bedroom, and Noelle could hear them from the basement, her mother’s disgraceful moaning, all their creaking and bumping, the shuddering floor. It was payment for a life Lacey May never could have afforded on her own. What would be the point of anything Noelle had ever dreamed, if she wound up just like Lacey May?
Ruth took her by the hand and helped her stand, as if she were in a delicate condition. “Come on,” she said, steering her back toward the house. “We’ll sort this all out.”
Mr. Riley and his wife lived just east of downtown, in a part of the city that was rough but being revitalized. It was mostly old millhouses, empty lots, and a few larger houses, bought up and awaiting renovation. The Rileys lived in a complex with a hair salon, tattoo parlor, and bicycle shop. Their unit was at the end of a bare courtyard, across the road from a row of sagging blue houses.
Gee and Jade had to be buzzed in, and they climbed up a pristine white staircase that reminded Gee of school. They reached the third floor and found Mr. Riley and his wife waiting for them in the hall. Mr. Riley was wearing a bow tie and slacks, a crimson apron around his waist. His wife wore a blue-and-white head wrap, blue stone earrings, a matching denim dress. On her hip she held their baby girl, in a onesie printed with the words I AM MAGIC.
They greeted Jade and Gee with hugs and kisses on the cheek. Mr. Riley introduced his wife, Andrea, his daughter, Katina; they both bore his last name.
The apartment was a single room with floor-to-ceiling windows, a couch and sitting area, an eat-in kitchen. Two bicycles were mounted on the plaster wall. A long staircase led up to the loft where they must have slept.
It was smaller than Gee would have imagined but also more beautiful. He found himself thinking Mr. Riley had too much and too little all at once.
“I know what you must be thinking about the stairs,” Andrea said. “But we’re very careful with Katina. And we’re going to move as soon as we’ve saved up for a house. Where do you all live?”
“The east side,” Mr. Riley answered for them. He was pouring Jade a glass of wine she hadn’t said she wanted.
“That makes us neighbors,” Jade said.
Mr. Riley shrugged. “I suppose. This is practically downtown.”
“It’s the east side, baby,” Andrea said, and she changed the subject by asking Gee if he wanted root beer, carrot juice, or coconut water.
Gee went to serve himself, but Andrea waved him off. She moved quickly, even with the baby tucked into her side. She had heavy breasts and tired eyes, a wide, open face. It was a surprise to Gee how pretty she was, and he wondered how Mr. Riley had found a woman like her.
They poured drinks and set the table, and when they sat down to dinner, they found they didn’t have much to say to one another. Gee had asked in the car what the point of all this was, and Jade had said, Connections are a good thing, Gee, but even she didn’t look so sure anymore.