to her mother move through the house and then into the garage, which
was directly under Amy’s bedroom. The Toyota started on the second
try, and the automatic garage door rumbled up, coming to rest with a
solid thud that rattled Amy’s windows.
After her mother had gone, Amy got out of bed, showered, dressed for
school, and went downstairs to the kitchen. Her father and Joey were
finishing a breakfast of toasted English muffins and orange juice.
“You’re running late this morning,” her father said. aBetter grab a
bite quick. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
It’s such a beautiful morning,” Amy said. “I think I’ll walk to school
today.” “Are you sure you have enough time?” “Oh, yes. Plenty of
time.” “Me too,” Joey said. “I want to walk with Amy.” “The
elementary school is three times as far as the high school,” Paul
Harper said. “Your legs would be worn down to your knees by the time
you got there.” aNah,” Joey said. “I can make it. I’m rough and
ready.” “One mean hombre,” his father agreed. aBut just the same,
you’ll ride with me.” “Aw, shoot!” Joey said.
“Bang,” Amy said, pointing a finger at him.
Joey grinned.
“Come on, hombre,” his father said. “Let’s get moving.”
Amy stood at one of the living room windows, watching the man and the
boy drive away in the family’s Pontiac.
She had lied to her father. She wasn’t going to walk to school.
In fact she didn’t even intend to go to school at all today.
She returned to the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, poured a steaming
mug of it for herself. Then she sat down at the kitchen table to wait
for her mother to get back from Mass.
Last night, tossing restlessly in bed, plotting how best to make her
confession, she had decided that she should tell her mother first. If
Amy sat them down and told them both at the same time, Mama’s reaction
to the news would be calculated to impress not only her daughter but
her husband, she would be even tougher on Amy than she might be if Amy
told her in private. And Amy also knew that if she told her father
first, it would look as if she were sneaking around behind her mother’s
back, trying to drive a wedge between her parents, trying to make an
ally of her father. If Mama thought that was the case, she would be
twice as difficult as she otherwise might have been. By telling Mama
first, by according her at least that much special respect, Amy hoped
to improve her chances of getting the abortion she wanted.
She finished the mug of coffee. She poured herself another, finished
that one, too.
The ticking of the kitchen clock seemed to grow louder and louder,
until it was a drumbeat to which her nerves jumped in sympathy.
When Mama finally came home from Mass, entering the kitchen through the
connecting door to the garage, Amy had never been more tense. The back
and underarms of her blouse were damp with perspiration. In spite of
the hot coffee, there seemed to be a lump of ice in her stomach.
“Morning, Mama.”
Her mother stopped in surprise, still holding the door open, the
shadowy interior of the garage I visible behind her. “What are you
doing here?” “I want to–” “You should be in school.”
I stayed home so I could–” Ysn’t this final exam week?” “No. That’s
next week. This week we just review material for the tests.” “That’s
important, too.”
– aYes, but I don’t think I’ll be going to school today.”
As Mama closed and locked the door of the garage, she said, “What’s
wrong? Are you sick?” “Not exactly. I–” “What do you mean–not
exactly?” she asked, putting her purse on the counter by the sink.
“You’re either sick or you’re not. And if you aren’t, you should be in
school.” “I have to talk to you,” Amy said.
Her mother came to the table and stared down at her. “Talk? About
what?”
Amy couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes. She looked away, turned her gaze
to the muddy residue of cold coffee in the bottom of her mug.