One More Day (21 page)

After Carrie's father had left, there hadn't been much time for church. It suddenly became an elective activity, like scrubbing the copper bottoms of pans or color-coding closets. She did the things that mattered, that showed, that counted. And church wasn't going to get Carrie a scholarship to college or help her mother pay the bills. No, quite the contrary; the church would expect their money and steal their time. But once Carrie was ensconced in college, alone and often lonely on the enormous campus, the chapel was one of the few refuges of comfort. She'd gotten back in the habit of attending every week, like she and her parents had done when she was young.

Carrie and her mother drove to Saint David's. Danielle had suggested going to another church where no one knew her, but Carrie had said no, that would be worse—what if someone recognized her and made a big deal about her being there? No, she was safer here, where she was known. That and she wanted to talk to Libby. Libby would understand. Libby, whose daughter's bedroom was like a shrine, even all these years later. There were only a few cars in the lot, Libby's Subaru being one of them. But no one was in the church, although the lights were on and candles were lit. They slid in to the last pew and bowed their heads. It had been a long time since Carrie had said a prayer next to her mother. Finally, they finished, crossed themselves, and left.

As they stood outside near Libby's car, Carrie glanced at her watch, wondering what was taking her so long.

“You seem nervous to see this Libby person,” her mother said.

“I'm not nervous,” she said.

“Well, you look nervous.”

“Mom,” she said with the exasperation of a much younger person.

“I'll wait in the car for you.”

“Fine.”

She leaned against Libby's Subaru and thought about going down to the basement but knew Anna, Joan, and possibly others would be there, and she didn't want to see them all.

Finally, Libby came out the back door, cocked her head when she realized who was standing by her car, then hurried over.

“Carrie, dear,” she said. “How have you been?”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Well, okay. I've been okay, I guess.”

“I'm baking you and John a lasagna tonight and bringing it over.”

“Oh, you don't have to, Libby, honestly.”

“You'll have lots of out-of-town company, and you'll be glad for the food. Trust me.”

“All right.” Carrie breathed in deeply, testing her nerve, going over different phrases in her mind. The last time she'd broached this topic, it hadn't gone well. But Father Paul said to see it as a gift. And what could be more of a gift than what she was about to say?

“Libby,” she said slowly, “I saw your daughter.”

“I'm sorry, lovey, what did you say?”

“I saw Mary. A few days ago. When I was driving down Birch Lane, near my old house. Did she have a friend who used to live there? A boyfriend maybe?”

The blank look on Libby's face hardened into a shape Carrie didn't recognize. “I don't know what you're talking about, but—”

“She had the same haircut, like the one in the photo on your mantelpiece.”

“No,” Libby said, shaking her head vigorously.

“She looked happy,” Carrie said.

“Carrie,” Libby said, digging her keys out of her purse, “I know you've been through a terrible time, a dreadful time, but this isn't funny. Dragging me into this…this dream state or this fugue of mental illness—”

“Mental illness?”

“Or game, this game, whatever it is you're doing… John doesn't want it, and I—”

“John? What on earth do you—”

“It's not—I want no part of it. Do you hear me, Carrie? I want no part of it.”

Carrie swallowed hard, faced her friend. Two stubborn tears sat at the corners of Libby's eyes. Her mouth turned down so hard Carrie barely recognized her.

“No part of it,” Libby repeated as she got in her car and cracked the windows. She started to pull out of the parking space.

“Libby,” Carrie called to her, “she was wearing the belt! The same belt!”

She watched as Libby drove through the lot, shaking her head quickly, as if wiping Carrie away.

Carrie walked over to her car. Father Paul was wrong; she would never learn how or what to do with the information. Ever.

In the car, Danielle remained quiet. She'd already been admonished for saying too much, for acting like a mother, and she didn't want to make that mistake again.

She looked out the window while Carrie drove, admiring the picturesque land the church occupied.

“I miss autumn,” Danielle said finally. “I'd so hoped the leaves would have turned by now.”

“They're late this year.”

“Although when I lived here, I preferred spring.”

“That's because it's the best time to sell a house.”

“Maybe.”

“Mom, I don't really want to go to the mall,” Carrie said. “I don't want to shop. I don't want to talk. I—”

Danielle nodded. “We don't have to go.”

She passed the turn at West Gulph Road that would take her toward the mall and went the other way, toward home. She drove faster than normal, almost as fast as John. She made little adjustments the entire way—fiddling with the mirrors, seat, windows, vents, anything to avoid talking more with her mother.

“You go, Mom,” Carrie said as she pulled into the driveway.

“What?”

“You go to the mall and pick out something for me.”

“No, honey, I shouldn't—”

“Shouldn't let me be alone? Is that why you're here, so John doesn't feel guilty about leaving his depressed and crazy wife at home? Is that why he told Libby I was mentally ill? Is that why he convinced you to come early, to keep an eye on me?”

“Carrie, no, that's not it.”

“Isn't it?”

“No.”

“Then prove it. Go to the mall,” she said. “Go to the mall and get me a blue dress. Please.”

Danielle looked at her daughter carefully. Her eyes were clear, her voice strong. There was nothing about her that seemed disheveled or confused. But could she trust her own instincts anymore? After what Carrie had told her, how could she trust that she knew what was going on with her daughter? Still, her radar didn't even ping.
That was years ago
, she told herself.
I was too wrapped up in my own problems then, but not now. Not now.

“Okay,” Danielle said quietly. “If that's what you want, honey.”

Carrie nodded. Danielle watched her daughter walk to the door. Part of her knew damn well she shouldn't leave her; the doorjamb was cracked and unstable, and John would be upset if he found her alone. But part of her also knew that Carrie would be fine. That she was strong, like her. And in the end, depending on how one looked at it, hadn't what she'd confessed proved that all over again? That she was strong beyond measure?

Danielle rolled down her window. “Lock the door!” Then she drove to the mall but hedged her bets by calling John's cell phone. She insisted that Carrie was fine, just tired, and that she had asked her mother to run the errand for her.

“What about church—was it her idea to go?”

“No, it was mine.”

Danielle frowned; she didn't remember mentioning to John that they'd stopped by the church. Carrie had told Danielle the detectives were following her—was John following her too?

“I guess she'll be okay for a little bit,” he said.

“Well, I didn't have much choice, John,” she said. “It would be completely out of character for me not to go. She would know that something was up and pitch a fit.”

“You're right,” he agreed. “I'll check on her. Make sure she's okay.”

Danielle hung up the phone and headed out to the mall, past all the developments she'd watched spring up, all the homes she'd tramped through, judging their wallpaper, their carpet, their aging pipes and chipped roofs. Their cherry front doors and emerald shutters.
Cobalt
, she thought suddenly, as if holding a paint chip in her hand. Her daughter would look beautiful at the funeral in a deep cobalt blue.

The day she'd found out she was pregnant the first time, Carrie had taken a bus all the way to City Line to buy a pregnancy test from a drugstore where she'd been certain she wouldn't run into anyone she knew. Whether that said more about her or about the Main Line, she couldn't tell you. She took the test in the cramped dark bathroom in the gas station next door, waiting for the telltale sign to appear while another patron pounded on the door. When she finished, she wasn't surprised, and she wasn't scared. That would come later. She threw the kit away, went outside to wait for the bus, and waited three days to tell Ethan, because they both had to study for a chemistry exam.

That Friday, after school let out and chemistry was at last in the rearview mirror, Ethan slumped over a plate of cheese fries and mused that he had probably failed the test.

She sighed. “You always say that, and you never do.”

This was part of his ritual, his need to discuss and worry and be the center of attention even when there was no reason or need. It was also, she was certain, part of some kind of reverse voodoo prayer, something that would bring him good luck by being too cool to ask for good luck.

Carrie waited until the booths on either side of them were empty. High school students came here early, college students came here late, and moms occasionally grabbed takeout in between, but there was always a lull. Carrie wanted to nestle her secret into that space, somewhere public and private at the same time.

Ethan slurped his Coke and scraped a large fry against the plate, getting the last dribs of ketchup before he bothered to pour any more, as if hoping he could make it last.

“Ethan,” Carrie said, “my period is late.”

“Wait, what?”

This wasn't something she usually discussed with him; she was private, decorous even when they were having sex, careful about covering up, closing the door when she went to the bathroom. She had never even passed gas in front of him that he knew of.

“Late. My period.”

“But it came, right?”

“No. And…it's not going to.”

A fry dangled from the corner of his mouth. He looked like a cat with a fish hanging there, not caring what he looked like. He blinked, then pulled the fry out of his mouth and put it back on the plate.

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

She nodded. He scanned her face, trying to read it. She didn't look happy, nor did she look like she was about to cry. She looked serious, like she looked when she told him she had to go to work or to study. She looked the way she looked when she knew what needed to be done.

He let out a long sigh.

“You're sure it was me, right?”

“Ethan!”

“I mean, you weren't roofied by a football team one weekend or anything?”

“If I'd been roofied, I wouldn't remember. Isn't that how that works?”

He sighed. “Well, luckily, I have some money.”

“Money?”

“Yeah. I mean, I assume it's not free, even at Planned Parenthood.”

Carrie's mouth fell open, just a half inch. He didn't seem to notice this and just leaned over and continued to talk, whispering but loudly, filling up the space with his own voice.

“I mean, if you haven't called them and asked the price yet, I'd be happy to do that. I'll do my part. Comparison shop! We should comparison shop, to get the best situation. There're probably a lot of places where you can have it done, and we'll find the doctor with the best track record at the Better Business Bureau. The lowest rate of infection, the fewest number of protestors outside—”

“Ethan,” she whispered, but he didn't hear her.

“I think I know a guy from camp whose girlfriend had to have one last year. I can ask him what he thinks—”

“Ethan!”

“What?”

“That's…that's not… I mean, I can't. I can't do that.”

His face turned gray in the low, buzzing fluorescent light.

“Carrie, what are you saying? I mean, we're in high school. You're fighting for a scholarship. Plus, Jesus, my parents would fucking kill me!”

Her face still held so little emotion. No tears, no worry lines.

“Well then, we won't tell them.”

“What, we'll run away?”

“I'll have the baby secretly, and we'll give it up for adoption.”

“Carrie, seriously. How can that fucking happen?”

She stood up and pulled her large gray sweatshirt out in front of her dramatically. Fifteen to twenty pounds, she estimated, at her height, if she was careful, if she didn't drink milkshakes and eat junk like other people did. There was room for way more than twenty pounds in the clothes she often wore.

Ethan's eyes narrowed, and he motioned her suddenly to sit down.

“What?”

“Your neighbor just walked in. The guy you used to babysit for.”

“Probably getting pizza for his kids. He wouldn't recognize me from behind anyway.”

“Well, he was looking at your ass kind of funny.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

Ethan was nervous while the man was in the shop, told her not to talk, not to say anything about “the situation” until he left. Finally, the door jingled, and Ethan nodded that it was safe.

Carrie's stomach growled, and she suddenly wished there were more french fries, hot ones, crisp ones, on the plate. Then she admonished herself: this was exactly what she needed to be careful about.

“But how can you hide, keep a secret for, what, nine months?”

“Eight.”

“What?”

“The average gestation is forty weeks, which is ten months, and I'm already two months along.”

He pulled his hands away from the fries and started to count. “April, May, June, July, August, September, October, November.”

“November.” She nodded.

“It won't work. Someone will find out. Someone will know.”

“No, they won't.”

“November,” he'd said finally with gritted teeth. “Hopefully you can do it over Thanksgiving break.”

“Why?”

“Because we won't have any tests to study for.”