“Virginia is for lovers!” a chipper stewardess said as Corinne pushed her way off a midsize airplane that same morning. “Thanks for flying with us!”
Corinne nodded and stepped onto the Jetway. The air was warmer and more humid than it had been in Manhattan, and the scenery around her was generic and utilitarian, all parking lots and signposts. She walked toward the airport exit, not needing baggage claim. The road outside arrivals was empty. Finally a clean white minivan with “Norfolk Kabs” emblazoned on its side rolled up. A friendly older man in a Hawaiian shirt smiled at her. “Where to?”
Corinne stared at the crumpled piece of paper she’d clutched through the whole plane ride. “Eighteen-forty Waterlily Road,” she read off. It was an address she’d received a long time ago, the only thing besides her scar to remind her of what had happened. Corinne was amazed she’d even held on to it for this long. Maybe, deep down, she knew she’d someday do this.
The cabbie pushed Corinne’s door closed and maneuvered around a Hertz Rent-a-Car bus. He followed signs for the airport exit and then pulled onto the main highway. Almost immediately there was a small tent at the side of the road. “Fresh strawberries, melons, broccoli,” read a sign written on cardboard. And a second one proclaimed, “Fireworks!”
Watching the green scenery whip by her window, that fateful night tumbled back to Corinne’s mind once more. After the test confirmed she was pregnant, she’d stood up, wrapped the wand in toilet paper, and hid it deep in her purse, promising to throw it away far from there. Then she’d peeked out the window at the guests and tried to picture Will mingling with her family. It was so inconceivable; she could imagine him only as a waiter, or maybe a guest who was clearly out of place, like Danielle Gilchrist and her mother, two redheads standing at the edge of the group, awkwardly sipping white wine.
That whole summer she had felt like someone else, as if a different person had taken over her body, making her do things she’d never otherwise do.
And now she needed to undo them.
A half hour later she’d dared to enter the party, the nausea she finally understood rippling through her stomach. She spotted Poppy across the room talking to a few people from the GIA and strode toward her. Poppy must have sensed something was wrong because she excused herself and followed Corinne into the pantry off the kitchen. “What is it?” she said worriedly, wedging herself between the shelves of peanut butter and paper towels.
“You can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” Corinne said after shutting the door. The small room was dark.
“Okay.” Poppy took Corinne’s hands seriously, and when Corinne couldn’t get out the words, she hugged her. “Whatever it is, it will be okay.”
“I’m pregnant,” Corinne whispered, barely able to get the words out. “But I have a plan,” she added quickly. “I’m going to rent a place somewhere in another state. I’ll get a doctor, and I’ll stay there until it’s done.”
Poppy gently wiped the tears from Corinne’s face. “Sweetie, you haven’t thought this through.”
“Yes, I have. I can’t have a . . .” She couldn’t manage to say the word. Baby. “But I can’t not have it either.”
“You’re going to want your mom there.”
The last thing she wanted was her mother. “Don’t you get it?” she whispered. “I have to get out of here, and I can’t have anyone know about this. . . . I can’t have anyone see me like this. It will ruin my entire life.”
Poppy drew her bottom lip into her mouth. “You’re being so hard on yourself.” She looked up at the ceiling. “And it’s not like you’ll be hiding for a month, you know—you’ll be there for nine months. Maybe a year, depending on your recovery. How are you going to explain that to people?”
“I’ve thought of that too,” Corinne said shakily. The idea had come to her so quickly, as if a dark place in her mind had been preparing for this day. “You can tell everyone you sent me to Hong Kong as my first order of business in foreign development. You’re president now—you can do that, can’t you?”
“What if someone wants to visit you there? What if someone catches you? I’ll be blamed too, Corinne.”
“No one will catch us,” Corinne said desperately. “Just . . . please. I need out of here. I need you to do this for me.”
Poppy’s eyes lowered. She stared at the tile floor for a long beat. “But it would be the first Saybrook great-grandchild.”
Corinne stared fixedly at a shelf full of soup cans, a painful lump in her throat. She tried to pretend Poppy hadn’t just said that. All around her were jocular sounds from the party: forks clinking against plates, the thump of bass, her grandmother’s voice rising over the other guests’.