I see, Maggie said. Go on.
There’s not much more to tell, the girl said. After school started at the end of August we still went out a couple times more. But something happened. I don’t know what. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t give me any warning. He just stopped picking me up. One day he didn’t come for me anymore.
You don’t know why?
No.
Do you know where he is now?
Not for sure, the girl said. He was talking about going to Denver. He knew somebody in Denver.
Maggie Jones studied her for a time. The girl looked tired and sad, the blanket wrapped about her shoulders as though she were some survivor of a train wreck or flood, the sad remnant from some disaster that had passed through and done its damage and gone on. Maggie stood up and collected their cups and emptied the remains of tea into the kitchen sink. She stood at the counter looking at the girl.
But honey, she said, talking a little heatedly now. For God’s sake. Did you not know any better?
About what?
Well, did you not use any protection at all?
Yes, the girl said. He did. But it broke on him a couple of times. At least he said it did. He told me that. Afterward when I got home I used hot salt water. But it didn’t do any good.
What do you mean you used hot salt water?
I squirted it inside myself.
Didn’t that burn?
Yes.
I see. And now you want to keep it.
The girl looked at her quickly, startled.
Because you don’t have to, Maggie said. I’ll go with you and help you speak to a doctor. If that’s what you want.
The girl turned away from the table and faced the window. The glass reflected the room back on itself. Beyond were the neighbors’ dark houses.
I want to keep it, she said, still facing out, speaking softly, steadily.
You’re certain?
Yes, she said. She turned back. Her eyes appeared very large and dark, unblinking.
But if you change your mind.
I know.
All right, Maggie said. I think we better get you to bed.
The girl rose from the kitchen table. Thank you, Mrs. Jones, she said. I want to thank you for being so kind to me. I didn’t know what else I was going to do.
Maggie Jones put her arms around the girl. Oh, honey, she said. I do feel sorry for you. You’re going to have such a hard time. You just don’t know it yet.
They stood hugging in the kitchen.
After a while Maggie said, But you know my father’s here too. I don’t know how he’s going to understand this. He’s an old man. But you’re welcome to stay here. We’ll just have to see.
They left the kitchen. She found the girl a long flannel nightgown and made up a bed in the living room on the couch. The girl lay down.
Good night, Mrs. Jones.
Good night, honey.
The girl settled deeper into the blankets. Maggie went back to her own bedroom and after a while the girl went to sleep.
Then in the night she woke when she heard someone coughing in the next room. She looked around in the unfamiliar darkness. The strange room, the things in it. A clock running somewhere. She sat up. But now she couldn’t hear anything else. After a time she lay back down. She was almost asleep again when she heard him get up out of bed and enter the bathroom. She could hear him urinating. The toilet flushed. Afterward he came out and stood in the doorway looking at her. An old man with white hair, wearing baggy striped pajamas. He cleared his throat. He scratched himself along his skinny flank, his pajamas moving. He stood watching her. Then he shuffled back down the hall to bed. Only gradually did she fall back to sleep.