“Because,” he said, looking me squarely in the face, “I need to know that you’re wrong.”

CHAPTER 6

Lucy

I lived in Plainfield, a ten-minute drive from my hometown of Westfield and only two blocks from the high school, so I always walked to and from my teaching job. Today, the air-conditioning in the school broke down during the first ten minutes of my summer-school class. I had a hard time focusing on my lesson plan, and the kids, never happy to be there in the first place, wanted to be anywhere but cooped up in that building. There we sat, twenty grumpy kids and me. I was as glad as they were when the bell rang.

Walking home, I wondered how Julie’s lunch with Ethan was going. As much as I’d tried to talk her out of it, I knew she was right to want the police to know about the letter. I just hated for her to have to go through something so emotionally taxing, and I wished she’d at least waited to meet Ethan until a day I could go with her. She’d been anxious about it. I called her during my break to give her moral support. She was on the parkway headed for Spring Lake and wouldn’t talk to me on her cell phone while she was driving. That was Julie. Always, always careful. Always afraid of making a mistake.

I lived in one of Plainfield’s painted ladies, the huge, beautifully restored Victorians on West Eighth Street. The house was divided into three spacious apartments, and mine was on the top floor, where I used the turret as my sunny music room. My neighbors were the gay couple who’d renovated the house and an African-American couple who also taught at the high school. Sometimes, in the evening, the five of us would sit on the porch and exchange stories. Everyone was tolerant of my violin practice, which was fortunate. I loved living there.

I knew Shannon was in my apartment even before I reached the house, spotting her in the turret window. Most likely, she’d been watching for me. I waved and she waved back, and I wondered what was wrong. Shannon had a key to my apartment and could come and go as she pleased, but she hadn’t stopped by unannounced in months.

I crossed the marble-floored foyer, and had started climbing the broad, circular staircase when I heard her voice from above.

“How was school?” she called down to me.

I tipped my head back to see her leaning over the railing of the top level, high above me.

“Hot,” I said. “Air conditioner broke.”

“Ugh,” Shannon said. “You poor thing.”

“And aren’t you supposed to be working?” I asked once I reached the landing. I gave her a hug.

“I’m going in late,” she said. “I have to talk to you.” She had the most beautiful brown eyes. I imagined guys melting into puddles at her feet. Were her eyes a bit bloodshot today, though? I tried not to stare.

I put my arm around her as we walked into the apartment. “What’s the problem, kiddo?” I asked.

She circled my waist with her own arm. “Only everything,” she said.

I dropped my briefcase on the dining-room chair. “Do you want something to drink?” I lifted the hem of my green tank top and waved it back and forth with my hands, trying to let some cool air reach my damp skin. “Soda? Iced tea.”

She shook her head. “I helped myself,” she said, pointing to the coffee table in the living room. I saw a glass of iced tea on a coaster. It was nearly empty; she’d been there awhile.

“It’s mango,” I said. “Good, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Let me get some and then we’ll talk, okay?”

She sat on my old floral camelback sofa in the living room, looking like a model, her white shirt and capris in stark contrast to the mauve and cranberry tones of the upholstery. I poured my iced tea in the kitchen, planning my end of the conversation in my mind. Certainly, she was here to talk about Julie’s reaction to her living with Glen for the summer. I’d told her I would support her in that, and I would.

She shifted to the very edge of the sofa when I came back into the room, as if preparing for a job interview. I sat down sideways in my favorite overstuffed chair and threw my legs over one of the arms, kicking off my sandals and letting them fall to the floor.

“I know your mom didn’t react well to you wanting to move in with your dad,” I said, lifting the glass to my lips.

She shook her head, dropping her gaze quickly to her hands where they were knotted in her lap. “No,” she said. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“No?” I prompted.

She looked at me. Her eyes were red.

“I’m pregnant,” she said, catching me completely off guard. My jaw dropped open, but no words came out.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as though she’d hurt me.

“But you’re on the pill,” I said.

“I missed one.” She played with the fringe of the beige afghan lying over the arm of the sofa. “But I took it the next day, the second I remembered. I guess I was too late with it or something.”

“How far along are you?” I asked.

“Sixteen weeks,” she said. “Almost exactly.”

“Sixteen weeks!” I looked at her belly, masked by the loose white top she was wearing. Suddenly it made sense. Her weight gain, her deadened spirit, the lack of life in her face.

“I’m due December twentieth,” she said.

“Due?” I asked. “You mean…you plan to have this baby?”

She nodded. “The baby’s father and I talked about it and we decided to have it.”

“Who the hell is the baby’s father?” I asked, not angrily. Not with much emotion other than confusion. “Your mother said you haven’t even been out on a date in months.”

“She’s right,” she said. “I haven’t, because I’m totally in love with…the baby’s father and he lives in Colorado. His name is Tanner Stroh.”

“How do you know him?” Thoughts were zipping through my mind faster than I could capture them: how Julie would react to this news, my mother becoming a great-grandmother, Shannon’s music career. She was supposed to enter Oberlin in the fall!

“I met him online when I was researching a paper on the Civil War,” she said. “He has a Web site that I went to. We started e-mailing. And we talk a lot on the phone.”

I used to teach American history, and in spite of myself, I liked the fact that this guy from Colorado, of all places, had a Web site about the Civil War. I managed to stop myself from asking if the site was biased in favor of the North or South.

“And apparently you’ve met in person,” I said, motioning toward her midriff.

“He came here over his spring break,” she said, tugging one of the pieces of fringe completely free of the afghan. She grimaced, looked at me. “Sorry,” she said.

“It’s okay.” I moved my hand in a circular motion to keep her talking. “Where did he stay?”

“He has some friends in Montclair.” Her lower lip suddenly began to tremble. “He’s awesome, Lucy,” she said, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe her good fortune in meeting him. “You would love him,” she said. “I know you would.”

I wasn’t at all sure about that. I wished she had told me earlier. Much earlier, so we could have had a reasonable conversation about her options. I felt a little betrayed by her. Shannon had always confided in me. I thought I knew everything about her.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this guy?” I asked, thinking of all the lunches and dinners we’d shared during the past six months or so when she’d obviously had this Tanner person on her mind and yet had said nothing.

“I didn’t want to hear you say I was being stupid,” she said.

“When have I ever told you you were being stupid?” I asked. “And why would I start now?”

“You know…” She played with the loose piece of fringe in her hands. “Because he lives so far away and I met him on the Internet and everything.”

I felt suspicious. “What’s the everything part?” I asked.

“He’s twenty-seven,” she said, and stopped playing with the fringe as she waited for my reaction.

I tried not to let the shock show on my face. There were a hundred things I wanted to say, but none of them would be helpful to her.

“And what do you know about him?” I managed to keep my voice steady as I asked the question.

She smiled for the first time since I’d arrived home, one of her dimples showing, and her eyes got the faraway look of a woman smitten.

“He’s so amazing,” she said. “He’s in graduate school to get his Ph.D. in history. The Civil War was his undergraduate project. Now he’s working on something about the Holocaust. He’s totally gorgeous and brilliant. He wants to be a college professor,” she said, trying to win my heart. She knew I had a soft spot for anyone who teaches.

“What did he say when you told him you were pregnant?” I didn’t trust this totally gorgeous, practically middle-aged future professor one bit. He lived two thousand miles away. He could be some sleazeball fabricating his credentials. But he did have that Web site. I would be sure to check it out.

“He was really upset,” she said, “but mostly for me. I mean, he said he didn’t really want me to have an abortion, but he understood how having a baby would screw up my plans for college and everything, and he said that if that’s what I wanted, that’s what I should do.”

“And what—”

“I can’t do it, Lucy.” There was a plea in her voice, begging me to understand. “If it happened last year, I would have had an abortion. If it had happened before I was done with high school. But now…it would feel selfish of me to do it now. This is my baby.” She rested her hands over her barely there belly.

“Oh, sweetie,” I said, aching for her. I thought of how hard the past few months must have been for her, keeping this secret from the people who cared most about her. I thought of her 4.2 grade point average and her responsibilities as president of her class. How on earth had she held it together so well? She was pretty amazing herself.