She didn't know what to do, or who to tell, or where to turn, and she didn't want to tell Paul. But finally at the end of May, she went to her mother's doctor and begged him not to tell her parents. She cried so much that he agreed, reluctantly, and confirmed that she was pregnant. She was, predictably, exactly two months pregnant. And Paul had been wrong, she very emphatically could get pregnant from “just one time.” She wondered if he'd been intentionally lying to her, or simply stupid, when he told her he didn't think it could happen. Maybe both. It was certainly beginner's luck, in any case, and she sat on the examining table, clutching the drape, with tears rolling down her cheeks, as the doctor asked her what she was going to do about it.

“Do you know who the baby's father is?” he asked, and Maribeth looked shocked and even more mortified at the question.

Of course,” she said, looking humiliated and grief-stricken. There was no easy way out of this dilemma.

“Will he many you?” She shook her head, her red hair looking like flame, her eyes like green oceans. The full impact of it hadn't even hit her yet, though the prospect of forcing Paul to marry her, even if she could, was very tempting.

“He's engaged to someone else,” she said hoarsely, and the doctor nodded.

“He might change his plans, under the circumstances. Men do that.” He smiled sadly. He was sorry for her. She was a sweet girl, and it was inevitable that this would change her life forever.

“He won't change his plans,” Maribeth said softly. She was the classic one-night stand, a girl he didn't even know, though he had told her he'd be around if she needed him. Well, she did now. But that didn't mean he would marry her just because he had gotten her pregnant.

“What are you going to tell your parents, Maribeth?” he asked soberly, and she closed her eyes, overwhelmed with the terror of it, just thinking about telling her father.

“I don't know yet.”

“Would you like me to talk to them with you?” It was a kind offer, but she couldn't imagine letting him tell them for her. She knew that sooner or later she would have to do it.

“What about …about getting rid of it?” she asked bravely. She wasn't even completely sure how one did that, except that she knew that some women “got rid” of babies. She'd heard her mother and aunt discussing it once, and the word they had whispered was “abortion.” Her mother had said that the woman almost died, but Maribeth knew that would be better than facing her father.

But the doctor frowned at her immediately. “That's costly, dangerous, and illegal. And I don't want to hear another word from you about it, young lady. At your age, the simplest solution is to have the baby and give it up for adoption. That's what most girls your age do. The baby is due in December. You could go to the Sisters of Charity the moment it showed, and stay there until you have the baby.”

“You mean give it away?” He made it sound so simple, and somehow she suspected that it was more complicated than that, that there was more he wasn't saying about the process.

“That's right,” he said, feeling sorry for her. She was so young, and so naive. But she had the body of a full-blown woman, and it had gotten her into trouble. “You wouldn't have to go into hiding for a while. It probably won't start to show until July or August, maybe even later than that. But you need to tell your parents.” Maribeth nodded, feeling numb, but what could she tell them? That she'd made love to a boy she didn't know on the front seat of his car the night of the prom, and he wouldn't many her? Maybe her mother would even want to keep the baby. She couldn't imagine any of it, or saying it to them as she put her clothes back on and left his office. He had promised not to say anything to them, until she did, and she believed him.

She sought Paul out at school that afternoon. Graduation was in two weeks, and she knew it was wrong to put any pressure on him. It was as much her fault as his, or so she thought, but she couldn't forget what he'd told her.

She let him walk her slowly around the grounds of school, and they wound up on the bench behind the gym, where they had first met the night of the dance and then she told him.

Oh shit. You're not.” He let out a long, slow sigh, and looked desperately unhappy.

“I am. I'm sorry, Paul. I don't even know why I told you. I just thought you should know.” He nodded, unable to say much of anything for the moment.

“I'm getting married in six weeks. Debbie would kill me if she knew. I told her everything she heard about you were lies and rumors.”

“What did she hear?” Maribeth looked curious, intrigued that Debbie had heard anything about her.

“That I went out with you that night. Everyone we saw at Willie's told her. We had broken up. It was reasonable. I just told her it was no big deal, and it didn't mean anything.” But it hurt anyway to hear him say it. Debbie was the one who mattered to him. She wasn't.

“And did it mean anything?” Maribeth asked pointedly. She wanted to know. She had a right to know now. She was having his baby.

He looked at her thoughtfully for a time, and then nodded. “It meant something then. Maybe not as much as it should have, but it did. I thought you were terrific. But then Debbie hounded me all weekend, and she cried. She said I was treating her like dirt and cheating on her, and I owed her more than that after three years, so I said I'd marry her after graduation.”

“Is that what you want?” Maribeth asked, staring at him, wondering who he was, and what he really wanted. She didn't really think Debbie was it for him, and wondered if he knew that.

“I don't know what I want. But I do know I don't want a baby.”

“Neither do I.” She was sure of it. She wasn't sure she'd ever want one, but surely not now, and not with him. No matter how handsome he was, it was obvious to her as they sat there that he didn't love her. She didn't want to be forced into marriage with him, even if he agreed to it, which she was sure he wouldn't. But she didn't want a man who would lie about her, or pretend he had never gone out with her, or cared about her. She wanted someone, eventually, who would be proud to love her, and have her baby. Not somebody who had to be railroaded into a shotgun wedding.

“Why don't you get rid of it?” he asked softly, and Maribeth looked at him sadly.

“You mean, give it away?” That was what she was planning to do, and what the doctor had suggested.

“No. I mean have an abortion. I know a senior who did last year. I could ask around. Maybe I could scrounge up some money. It's really expensive.”

“No, I don't want to, Paul.” The doctor had discouraged her from exploring that avenue any further. And she was uncomfortable too, no matter how little she knew, that getting rid of it might be murder.

“Are you going to keep it?” he asked, sounding panicked. What was Debbie going to say? She'd kill him.

“No. I'm going to give it away,” she said. She had thought about it a lot. And it seemed like the only solution. The doctor says I can live with the nuns once it shows, and then give it to them, and they'll put it up for adoption.” And then she turned, and asked him a strange question. “Would you want to see it?” But he shook his head, and then turned away. He hated how she made him feel, inadequate and frightened, and angry. He knew that he was being less than he should to her. But he didn't have the guts to take this on with her. And he didn't want to lose Debbie.

“I'm sorry, Maribeth. I feel like such an S.O.B.” She Wanted to tell him that he was, but she couldn't. She wanted to say she understood, but she couldn't do that either, because she didn't. She didn't understand anything. What had happened to them, why they had done it, why she had gotten pregnant, and why he was going to be marrying Debbie instead of her, while she hid with the nuns and had his baby. It was all so out of control.

They sat in silence for a little while after that, and then he left, and she knew she'd never speak to him again. She only saw him once, the day before graduation, and he didn't say anything to her. He just looked at her, and then turned away, and she walked back across the campus alone, with tears streaming down her face, not wanting to have his baby. It was all so unfair, and she was feeling sicker every day.

The week after school let out, she was kneeling over the toilet one day, puking her brains out, and she had forgotten to lock the door, when her brother came in and saw her.

“Sorry, Sis …oh my God … are you sick?” Ryan looked instantly sorry for her, and then just as quickly a light dawned, and he stared as she vomited again and he understood. “Shit, you're pregnant.” It was a statement, not a question.

She lay there, with her head resting on the toilet for a long time, and then finally she stood up, and he was still staring at her, his face devoid of sympathy, only filled with accusation. “Dad's going to kill you.”

“What makes you so sure I'm pregnant?” She tried to sound flip with him, but he knew her better.

”Who's the guy?”

“None of your business,” she said, feeling a wave of nausea sweep over her again, more out of nerves and terror.

“You'd better tell him to get out his good suit, or start running. Dad'll have his ass if he doesn't do right by you.

“Thanks for the advice' she said, and walked slowly out of the bathroom. But she knew now that her days were numbered. And she was right.

Ryan told her father that afternoon, and he came home in a rage and nearly tore off the door to her bedroom. She was lying there on the bed, while Noelle listened to records and did her nails. And he pulled Maribeth into the living room and shouted for her mother. Maribeth had been trying to think about how she was going to tell them, but now she didn't have to. Ryan had done it for her.