Part 2 (1/2)

I dropped on the bed next to them, leaned back on my hands. The patchwork quilt beneath me was soft, comforting against my skin. My mother must have brought it from home. I quickly scanned the room and noticed several other personal touches: a small pile of stuffed animals, two bright Monet prints, and a substantial library of Sesame Street videos. At least Jenny was surrounded by her favorite things. I redirected my attention to our mother. ”What are you going to do, Mom, raise the baby yourself?”

”No,” she said, her voice faltering, then looked at me with sad eyes. ”I don't know what I'm going to do. But it's just not right. This baby is alive. I can't be responsible for killing it.”

”You wouldn't be.”

”Yes, I would. I'm Jenny's guardian, so it's my decision whether this baby lives or dies. If it dies, I'm the one who made it happen.” She shook her head. ”I won't do it.” She stood up, giving emphasis to her words.

I threw my hands up in the air. ”Then what the h.e.l.l did you want me here for, if you've already made up your mind?”

Her eyes lit up with tears, looking to Jenny and then back to me. ”You're her sister, Nicole. I thought she might need you.”

Jenny let out a tiny happy squeak, smiling at me again. I sighed, realizing I wouldn't convince Mom to change her mind so quickly. But then, the seed of an idea began to take root in my mind: a solution, a redemption. Something I could finally do to make up for what I hadn't done all those years before. ”All right,” I said. ”Fine. But then we're going to get her out of here.”

My mother's thin, dark eyebrows lifted into small tents toward her hairline. ”And take her where?”

”Home, Mom. I want to take her home.”

After a long day of fruitless discussion at Wellman, I consented to leave Jenny at the inst.i.tute one more night. Whispering in my sister's ear before my mother and I left, I promised her I'd do everything I could to be back the next day to get her.

As we sat down to eat at the small, round kitchen table, my mother and I continued to argue. ”You've never taken care of someone like that,” she said. ”You don't know how much it takes out of you.”

I set my fork down next to my bowl, its contents cold and untouched. My stomach was whirling with emotion; the idea of adding soggy spaghetti to it was enough to cause a small gag in the back of my throat. ”I watched it drain the life right out of you,” I said.

Her eyes closed and her chin shot upward at this remark, as though someone had caught her with a sharp right hook. She lowered her jaw and looked at me with watery eyes. ”When did you get to be so cruel?”

My chest tightened with guilt. Strange how I could be so angry with her and yet feel such remorse when I hurt her. ”Sorry,” I said, pus.h.i.+ng my bowl to the center of the table. ”It's just ... I guess I don't understand why you want her to have this baby, Mom. It seems like you'd be putting Jenny through an awful lot-”

”She's already been through an awful lot!” Mom snapped, interrupting me, slamming her fork to the table. I jumped at the noise, taken aback by her forcefulness.

”Having an abortion is not as simple as it sounds,” she continued in a quieter tone.

”I know,” I said. ”It just seems that it would provide a quicker solution than letting her go through with the pregnancy.”

Mom stared at me, her expression deep and thoughtful. ”Just because a solution is quick doesn't mean the consequences don't stick with you.”

Her point hit home. I thought of my hurried departure ten years before, how the consequences of choosing to build a life without my family had left me feeling empty, uncertain about my career and living with a man I wasn't sure was right for me. Contentment seemed to elude me; just when I thought I might turn a corner and catch it, it vanished. I readied for confrontation on this subject with my mother. ”I left because I couldn't stand to see her in that place,” I said defensively. ”And yes, the consequences stuck with me. They're still sticking with me.” My tone stepped up an octave. ”I'm positively sticky with guilt, okay?” I made my voice hard, demanding.

She looked bewildered, then a little annoyed. ”I wasn't talking about you, Nicole, however much that may surprise you.”

I felt appropriately chastised, realizing that in the short time I'd been home, I'd made more than one false a.s.sumption regarding her intentions. But I was a little annoyed myself, feeling once again that I had to drag what my mother was thinking from her.

When she didn't go on, I asked, ”Then who were you talking about?”

Placing her elbows on the table, she let her forehead fall against folded hands. ”Me,” she said. The sound was more a breath than a word.

It was my turn to look bewildered. ”What about you?”

She didn't look up, but instead spoke to the surface of the table as though it were a priest to whom she was making confession. ”My abortion.” If her voice had been any quieter I wouldn't have heard her at all.

My jaw dropped. ”What? When?”

”You were six months old. I didn't think I could have another child so soon ... ” She trailed off, then took another deep breath before continuing, still not looking at me. ”You think you're sticky with guilt.” With this, she lifted her gaze to me, her thin lips pressed into a grim line.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. ”So you don't want Jenny to have an abortion because you feel guilty about yours?” Her reluctance made a little more sense now, though I wasn't sure if it justified putting my sister through the strain of pregnancy and childbirth.

She shook her head. ”No. But what if she feels the same connection to her baby that I felt to mine when it was still inside me?” She swallowed. ”Before I killed it.”

”You didn't kill it, Mom.” I recognized my own melodramatic nature in her words and had the sudden urge to shower in order to wash off the similarity.

Her dark head bobbed insistently. ”Yes, I did. I felt that baby's life inside me the same way I felt your life inside me, and I made the decision to end it.” Her green eyes were pleading. ”If Jenny has any sense of that baby's life, I will not be the one to take it from her.”

We were quiet for a moment, both absorbed in our separate thoughts. I considered the significance of what she had revealed. ”Okay,” I said. ”But why didn't you just tell me this at the hospital?”

”We've barely spoken for ten years,” she said flatly, her eyes dark with restrained emotion. ”The fact that you had an abortion isn't exactly something you share with a casual acquaintance. Even if she is your daughter.”

It seemed I wasn't the only person at the table capable of cruelty. My bottom lip quivered unexpectedly at the severity of her words, and as I averted my eyes from her gaze, I found myself having to blink back an onslaught of tears. I stared hard at the yellow birdhouse-patterned wallpaper that had hung in this kitchen for as long as I could remember.

She was right, of course. We were hardly more than strangers. And suddenly I realized how terrible that was, how much I had missed having her in my life. I felt her eyes on me, expectant, but I still couldn't look at her. I certainly wasn't prepared to share what I was feeling, so I decided instead to try to set aside the issues we had with each other in order to figure out what was best for Jenny. ”So, okay,” I said, finally. ”Jenny is going to have this baby.” I paused, turning my head to look at her. ”Then she should come home.”

She leaned back against her chair. Sighing, she tucked her hair behind both ears and held her hands there as though she didn't want to hear any more. ”I have to work, Nicole. I couldn't do it.”

”But you wouldn't be doing it,” I said stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest. ”I would.” I swung one arm around the room in a wide circle. ”She knows this house. It's still set up for her: the bathroom, her bedroom, the ramp on the back porch. You wouldn't have to do anything. I'd do it all.” My voice shook under the weight of this promise, unsure whether I actually had what it took to follow through. I spoke purely on instinct, allowing my feelings, not my intellect, to guide my words.

She looked at me skeptically, her chin to her chest. ”You have no idea what you'd be taking on.”

”Maybe not, but you asked me to come because Jenny might need me.” I held my hands out to her, open-palmed. ”So let me at least do something.” I had a difficult time understanding how my mother could be so adamant about Jenny having the child and hedge so much about bringing her home. It seemed I was offering her the perfect solution.

”What about your job?” she countered. ”Can you afford to take so much time off?”

”Another baker is picking up my s.h.i.+fts. It's no big deal.” This was true, I realized, and a little bit sad to think I was so easily replaced. I suddenly felt insignificant.

She sighed. ”I still can't believe you left your practice. Your grandmother didn't leave you an education fund to have you throw it away like that.”

I felt compelled to defend myself. ”I'm not throwing anything away. I'm trying out a different career.” I didn't mention that I had been extremely thrifty with my education fund; I was still living off its remains. It was the financial cus.h.i.+on that had made my coming home possible. I stood up from the table, fingers splayed across its surface. ”You're trying to change the subject. We need to make a decision here. I want to bring Jenny home.”

She still looked hesitant, so I tried another tack. ”Do me a favor, okay? Just think about it. Don't decide tonight. Sleep on it and see how you feel in the morning.”

”Okay,” she agreed. Her eyes were tired. She stood as well, and we both retreated to our respective rooms, waiting silently for morning to come.

When I woke, the house was still quiet. I ventured into the dark hallway to call Shane before I talked to my mother. This time I caught him at home.

”Hey, babe,” he said. ”How'd it go with your sister?”

I fingered the springy telephone cord, smiling. ”Pretty well, all things considered.” I gave him a brief synopsis of the visit, then told him of my plan to stay and take care of Jenny until the baby was born.

He was quiet for a moment, then spoke. ”You're staying four more months?”