four
Malorie is driving. The sisters use her car, a 1999 Ford Festiva, because there is more gas in it. They’re only three miles from home, yet already there are signs that things have changed.
“Look!” Shannon says, pointing at several houses. “Blankets over the windows.”
Malorie is trying to pay attention to what Shannon is saying, but her thoughts keep returning to her belly. The Russia Report media explosion worries her, but she does not take it as seriously as her sister. Others online are, like Malorie, more skeptical. She’s read blogs, particularly Silly People, that post photos of people taking precautions, then add funny captions beneath them. As Shannon alternately points out the window, then shields her eyes, Malorie thinks of one. It was of a woman hanging a blanket over her window. Beneath it, the caption read: Honey, what do you think of us moving the bed right here?
“Can you believe it?” Shannon says.
Malorie nods silently. She turns left.
“Come on,” Shannon says. “You absolutely have to admit, this is getting interesting.”
A part of Malorie agrees. It is interesting. On the sidewalk, a couple passes with newspaper held to their temples. Some drivers have their rearview mirrors turned up. Distantly, Malorie wonders if these are the signs of a society beginning to believe something is wrong. And if so, what?
“I don’t understand,” Malorie says, partly trying to distract her thoughts and partly gaining interest.
“Don’t understand what?”
“Do they think it’s unsafe to look outside? To look anywhere?”
“Yes,” Shannon says. “That’s exactly what they think. I’ve been telling you.”
Shannon, Malorie thinks, has always been dramatic.
“Well, that sounds insane,” she says. “And look at that guy!”
Shannon looks to where Malorie points. Then she looks away. A man in a business suit walks with a blind man’s walking stick. His eyes are closed.
“Nobody’s ashamed to act like this,” Shannon says, her eyes on her shoes. “That’s how weird it’s gotten.”
When they pull into Stokely’s Drugs, Shannon is holding her hand up to shield her eyes. Malorie notices, then looks across the parking lot. Others are doing the same.
“What are you worried about seeing?” she asks.
“Nobody knows that answer yet.”
Malorie has seen the drugstore’s big yellow sign a thousand times. But it has never looked so uninviting.
Let’s go buy your first pregnancy test, she thinks, getting out of the car. The sisters cross the lot.
“They’re by the medicine, I think,” Shannon whispers, opening the store’s front door, still covering her eyes.
“Shannon, stop it.”
Malorie leads the way to the family planning aisle. There is First Response, Clearblue Easy, New Choice, and six other brands.
“There’s so many of them,” Shannon says, taking one from the shelf. “Doesn’t anyone use condoms anymore?”
“Which one do I get?”
Shannon shrugs. “This one looks as good as any.”
A man farther down the aisle opens a box of bandages. He holds one up to his eye.
The sisters bring the test to the counter. Andrew, who is Shannon’s age and once asked her on a date, is working. Malorie wants this moment to be over with.
“Wow,” Andrew says, scanning the small box.
“Shut up, Andrew,” Shannon says. “It’s for our dog.”
“You guys have a dog now?”
“Yes,” Shannon says, taking the bag he’s put it in. “And she’s very popular in our neighborhood.”
The drive home is torturous for Malorie. The plastic bag between their seats suggests her life has already changed.
“Look,” Shannon says, pointing out the car window with the same hand she’s been using to hide her eyes.
The sisters come to a stop sign slowly. Outside the corner house they see a woman on a small ladder, nailing a comforter over the home’s bay window.
“When we get back I’m doing the same thing,” Shannon says.
“Shannon.”
Their street, usually crowded with the neighborhood kids, is empty. No blue, stickered tricycle. No Wiffle ball bats.
Once inside, Malorie heads to the bathroom and Shannon immediately turns on the television.
“I think all you gotta do is pee on it, Malorie!” Shannon calls.
Inside the bathroom, Malorie can hear the news.
By the time Shannon arrives at the bathroom door, Malorie is already staring at the pink strip, shaking her head.
“Oh boy,” Shannon says.
“I’ve got to call Mom and Dad,” Malorie says. A part of her is already steeling herself, knowing that, despite being single, she is going to have this baby.