disapproving stares and deafening silence at 78 Hill Road, the thought of being abandoned at some orphanage for wayward teens was much worse. She hadn’t seen a suitcase, but maybe Betsy had hidden it in the trunk. And if Betsy left her someplace, she wondered if she would pick her up afterwards, if life could ever go back to the way it was before. A dozen unanswered questions raced in circles through Grace’s mind.
In the midst of imagining a series of asylums her mother could be taking her to, Grace fell asleep again, the hum of the air conditioner and the engine too hypnotic to resist. Only when the car was parked did Grace wake up, slowly swimming up through her muddy brain into consciousness. When she awoke, for just a second, life was as it had been before. But then there was the jolt of her new reality, and that heavy feeling, like a cold, hard rock in her stomach, returned.
“Grace, wake up. We’re here,” Betsy said tersely, poking Grace’s shoulder with her index finger, making as little physical contact as possible.
At her mother’s touch, Grace sat bolt upright. Thus far, the top-secret mother-daughter outing had not prompted much of a thaw in family relations, but at least her mother was still talking to her.
“Where’s here?” Grace sat up and stretched, looking out the car window at a large mirrored glass office building. The landscape was completely unfamiliar to her.
Ignoring Grace’s question, Betsy got out, slammed the car door behind her, and marched across the parking lot toward the glass cube. Running to catch up with her mother, Grace considered the possibilities. Perhaps Betsy was taking her to a doctor before she took her to the home for unwed mothers. Or maybe there was an adoption agency in this building. It was no use asking. Betsy was clearly still not speaking to her unless absolutely necessary, and Grace would find out soon enough.
Two minutes later they were in the waiting room of a place called the Women’s Health Center of Massachusetts. Grace could understand that Betsy wanted to avoid the local obstetrician, but had it really been necessary to drive all the way to Massachusetts to get a prenatal exam? Taking a seat at one end of a worn leather sofa, Grace picked up a parenting magazine and pretended to read. Across from her, a blond girl who looked about her age gnawed nervously on her fingernails and stared at her feet. In another chair sat a forty-something woman, clearly the biter’s mother, flipping violently through an old issue of
National Geographic
.
“Grace Warren. We have an appointment,” her mother whispered to the woman at the front desk.
“Please fill out these forms. The doctor will be with you shortly.” The receptionist tried to hand Betsy a clipboard, but Betsy pushed it back across the counter.
“I’d rather not. If I’m paying cash, why do I need to give you any information?” Betsy took out her wallet and withdrew a wad of bills. “I’m not submitting anything to insurance, and I’d like to maintain my privacy.”
“It doesn’t matter what form of payment you use, ma’am, you still have to fill out the paperwork. Those are the rules. And you don’t pay until after the doctor does the initial examination, just in case.” Once again, the receptionist placed the clipboard on the counter, the attached pen dangling from a silver chain.
“Just in case what? That’s outrageous.” Certain that if she didn’t back down, she would get her way, Betsy stared venomously at the woman in the pink and blue polka dot smock who was at that moment dreading her decision to take the extra shift that morning.
“No paperwork, no procedure,” said the receptionist, glaring up at Betsy and turning back to her computer, ending the conversation, silently cursing all the spoiled, self-centered bitches who were such crappy mothers that it was no wonder their daughters ended up pregnant.
Nostrils flaring, Betsy stuffed her wallet back into her enormous
In the midst of imagining a series of asylums her mother could be taking her to, Grace fell asleep again, the hum of the air conditioner and the engine too hypnotic to resist. Only when the car was parked did Grace wake up, slowly swimming up through her muddy brain into consciousness. When she awoke, for just a second, life was as it had been before. But then there was the jolt of her new reality, and that heavy feeling, like a cold, hard rock in her stomach, returned.
“Grace, wake up. We’re here,” Betsy said tersely, poking Grace’s shoulder with her index finger, making as little physical contact as possible.
At her mother’s touch, Grace sat bolt upright. Thus far, the top-secret mother-daughter outing had not prompted much of a thaw in family relations, but at least her mother was still talking to her.
“Where’s here?” Grace sat up and stretched, looking out the car window at a large mirrored glass office building. The landscape was completely unfamiliar to her.
Ignoring Grace’s question, Betsy got out, slammed the car door behind her, and marched across the parking lot toward the glass cube. Running to catch up with her mother, Grace considered the possibilities. Perhaps Betsy was taking her to a doctor before she took her to the home for unwed mothers. Or maybe there was an adoption agency in this building. It was no use asking. Betsy was clearly still not speaking to her unless absolutely necessary, and Grace would find out soon enough.
Two minutes later they were in the waiting room of a place called the Women’s Health Center of Massachusetts. Grace could understand that Betsy wanted to avoid the local obstetrician, but had it really been necessary to drive all the way to Massachusetts to get a prenatal exam? Taking a seat at one end of a worn leather sofa, Grace picked up a parenting magazine and pretended to read. Across from her, a blond girl who looked about her age gnawed nervously on her fingernails and stared at her feet. In another chair sat a forty-something woman, clearly the biter’s mother, flipping violently through an old issue of
National Geographic
.
“Grace Warren. We have an appointment,” her mother whispered to the woman at the front desk.
“Please fill out these forms. The doctor will be with you shortly.” The receptionist tried to hand Betsy a clipboard, but Betsy pushed it back across the counter.
“I’d rather not. If I’m paying cash, why do I need to give you any information?” Betsy took out her wallet and withdrew a wad of bills. “I’m not submitting anything to insurance, and I’d like to maintain my privacy.”
“It doesn’t matter what form of payment you use, ma’am, you still have to fill out the paperwork. Those are the rules. And you don’t pay until after the doctor does the initial examination, just in case.” Once again, the receptionist placed the clipboard on the counter, the attached pen dangling from a silver chain.
“Just in case what? That’s outrageous.” Certain that if she didn’t back down, she would get her way, Betsy stared venomously at the woman in the pink and blue polka dot smock who was at that moment dreading her decision to take the extra shift that morning.
“No paperwork, no procedure,” said the receptionist, glaring up at Betsy and turning back to her computer, ending the conversation, silently cursing all the spoiled, self-centered bitches who were such crappy mothers that it was no wonder their daughters ended up pregnant.
Nostrils flaring, Betsy stuffed her wallet back into her enormous
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