Part 19 (1/2)
”Are you okay?” Lexie asked. ”You sound funny.”
”I'm fine. I just wondered if you were coming to the store today. I thought we'd have lunch.”
”No, I switched s.h.i.+fts. I'm working the three to eleven.”
”How come?”
”Praline and Brownie have roseola, so I can't take them to day care, but my neighbor said she'd keep them tonight.”
”Oh.”
”Novalee, is something wrong?”
”Well . . . not really. I just need to talk to you.”
”Come on over now. What time do you have to be at work?”
The line was quiet for several seconds.
”Novalee?”
”Huh?”
”What's the matter? What's going on?”
”I think I might be pregnant.”
Lexie lived in low-income housing at the edge of town, a complex that had, years before, been a motel. Four units surrounded a pool, which the tenants called the toxic tub. The grounds, patches of bare earth and a half-dozen stunted cedars, were littered with rusted tricycles, airless inner tubes, trash can lids and chunks of bricks. Two skinny hounds licking at a greasy spot in the parking lot were undisturbed when Novalee pulled in behind them.
153.
The door to Lexie's apartment, number 128, was decorated with Santa and Rudolph and Christmas bells. Halloween was just a week away.
”Hi, n.o.bbalee,” Brownie said. ”I have roy-rolla. See?” He pulled up his Mutant Ninja pajama s.h.i.+rt to reveal a rash across his belly.
”Does it hurt?”
”Yes, but I'm a big boy,” he said as he strutted back to the television and Wile E. Coyote.
”I'm in the bathroom, Novalee,” Lexie called. ”Coffee's on.”
Novalee went to the kitchen, but settled for a gla.s.s of water. She didn't need coffee, but that was partly because her stomach wasn't ready for chocolate chip mocha, Lexie's coffee of choice, and partly because of the brightness. Lexie had painted everything with Glidden white glossy enamel, a garage sale bargain at fifty cents a gallon. On bright, sunny days the glare was blinding. The rooms were so s.h.i.+ny, so brilliant, that Praline, the blondest and fairest of the children, wore an old green velvet hat with a black veil to protect her eyes when she first woke up. That's when Lexie called her Madam Praline and served her milk in a dainty china cup.
Lexie sailed into the kitchen wearing another of her garage sale purchases, a filmy chiffon gown that she said was exactly like one Marilyn Monroe wore in Some Like It Some Like It Hot. Hot.
”Tell me everything.”
”Okay.” Novalee took a sip of water, then ran her tongue across her lips. ”The guy I told you about . . .”
”The one who works in the garage.”
”Troy Moffatt. Well, I went to bed with him . . . and Lexie, I'm scared to death I'm pregnant.”
”Didn't he use anything?”
”No.”
154.
”Did you?”
”No. Yes. I mean, I'm on birth control pills, only . . .”
”Then you don't have anything to worry about.”
”But I've only been on them a little while.”
”That's probably why you're late then. They can throw you off schedule the first couple of months.”
”I just don't trust them.”
”How late are you?”
”Well, I don't know if I am.”
”What do you mean?”
”See, it's not time for my period yet. I'm not due to start for another couple of weeks.”
”Then how pregnant could you be? I mean, if the pills didn't work, how far along could you be? Two weeks?”
”No.”
”A week?”
Novalee shook her head.
”How long then?”
”Nine . . . ten hours.”
Lexie smiled, squeezed Novalee's hand, then got up and poured herself a cup of coffee. ”Honey, I think it's a little early to start worrying.”
”No . . . it's not! It's exactly the right right time to worry. Now! When maybe I can do something about it.” time to worry. Now! When maybe I can do something about it.”
”You mean an abortion?”