“I'm Josie.” She pointed to the name badge pinned to her smock. “Get something inside you, child.”
She nibbled at the edge of a cracker and sipped the can of ginger ale as Josie made the bed with the crisp economy of one who has dressed thousands. When Erica was little, she would follow her mother on wash day. Laundry basket perched on her hip, Margaret climbed the stairs with folded sheets and laid them out upon the dresser and then stripped the beds. Behind her mother's back, the girl jumped on the bare mattress, giggling as she positioned herself dead center, still as a soldier, and Margaret would pretend not to see her, pretend she was not there, then snap the sheet in the air till it billowed overhead like a sail, like the falling sky, to cover her body. Thus hidden, she would not move, suppressing all laughter, and her seeker would say, “What's this lump?” with gentle hands pulling and tweaking and massaging the tiny shroud till Erica rose up like a ghost shrieking with laughter, the sheets wound around her like a caul, born again into the world.
Josie smoothed the blankets with her palms and pulled up the covers as if she were saying goodnight and tucking in that same child, and then she sat on a corner to face her. “You're getting some color back, good.”
On bitter February days, Erica would complain of flu or fever, or if the temperature outside dipped near zero, Margaret would consent with no fuss, telling her to stay home from school, shutting off the lamp again, and she would lie in darkness, buoyed by the warmth of her bed, the bitter cold pressing against the blinds, sometimes falling asleep again till nine or so, and then call for her mother. Margaret brought tepid ginger ale or pale tea, the crackers, a bowl of chicken noodle soup for lunch. Afterward a story or the morning paper's comics read together on pillow tops. Palm to the forehead, a reprieve. By four o'clock, the winter's day slowly weakened to dusk, and they'd cuddle on the couch for an old I Love Lucy rerun or Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, and worn out by her purloined leisure, she would nap until her father came home from the clinic. Now she wanted nothing more than to have this stranger stay with her, wrap a blanket over her in the chair, and remain until she could fall asleep.
“How long has it been?” Josie asked. The question, having no referent, confused her. “You are expecting?”
“Me?” A calendar whirred in her mind. “Expecting what?”
Folding her hands together, Josie drew in a breath. “Two months gone, I'd reckon. Don't you know?”
“What makes you think I'm pregnant two months? Some old Indian magic, in touch with Mother Earth?”
Pleased with the girl's sass, Josie laughed and rocked back on the bed. “Some old mother magic. Three babies of my own, though they're old stinkers now, but it was always the same. Sick as the dog's breakfast, but the moment passes, once your hormones settle.”
“I'm not having a baby, just a little bit sick.”
“Are you sure you're not just a little bit pregnant?”
She searched her memory. Her period should have come while they were at the Gavins’ house in the hills. But no, surely she would remember if it had. Last time? Her friend Joyce Green had asked her to come swimming—one last dip of summer—and she had to be off cycle to risk the pool. She had missed two. “I'm only seventeen,” she said.
“I could be wrong. But you got the look, and the morning sickness. Best you find a doctor. How old's that boy you're with? When I first seen him, he looked like an army man, that short hair, but that boy's no warrior—”
“He's eighteen.”
“—just a boy with a gun. I seen what's in the back of that red car, if that is your car. Where you two from?”
“Back east. Pennsylvania.”
“Girl, you got to get yourself back, no matter how far away, how hard it is. Go see a doctor first, take care of that baby.”
“My father's a doctor.” She looked stricken. “Jesus, I can't believe it.”
“Jesus ain't got nothing to do with it. Go on home, child.” Josie patted her hand. “Listen, you're worried ‘bout what your mama will say, what your daddy will do. Sure, they'll be angry at first, how could you have done, and let me get my hands on that boy. But they'll come around, and nine months, you show them that li'l angel, they'll melt away and forget and forgive. Take up their burden, that's their job, your mama and dad. Get that boy to get you to a doctor, and get you home before you're too far gone.”