“What does that mean?” Morgan asked. Her voice was barely a whisper.
“For a medical abortion, the doctor would give you two different kinds of medication to take, and usually within a few hours, the contents of your uterus would empty.”
The contents of my uterus. Morgan could imagine her father repeating those words, scornfully, from his pulpit. Oh, they’ve got all kinds of pretty words to hide it, but what they’re really talking about is a baby, he would say. A baby they’d be happy to murder, to tear, limb from limb, right up to the moment the mother gives birth.
“Will it hurt?” she whispered.
“It depends. The cramping can be intense for some women, and the bleeding can be very heavy. For some women, it’s not much worse than a regular period.”
“Will I be able to ride my bike, after it’s over?”
The woman chuckled a little. “No. You’re going to want to spend the next day in bed, resting,” the lady told her. But Morgan knew that wasn’t an option. She’d just have to push through it, to keep her secret. She could handle pain, blood, cramps. She could handle whatever she had to handle, as long as her mom and dad didn’t find out what she’d done.
All day long, with every rotation of her bike’s wheels, Morgan thought about her secret. She reviewed the plans she’d made—how she’d hang toward the back of the group and then ride her bike to the clinic. She still didn’t know what would happen there, and all the woman could tell her was We’ll examine you and see how far along you are. Then we can discuss your options. It had been Olivia’s idea to buy a cheap burner phone at the drugstore two suburbs away. Morgan thought it was unnecessary until Olivia had shown her a story about a seventeen-year-old girl in Nebraska and her mother who’d been charged with a felony after the police had gotten access to Facebook messages where the mom was instructing her daughter on how to take the pills that had ended her pregnancy. If they got her messages, they can get your phone, and they can see who you’ve been calling, Olivia had said. So they’d bought the phone at the drugstore, and had sat on Olivia’s bed to make the call, once the bedroom door was locked.
“Can you just send me the pills?” Morgan had asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“There are places you can find online that will do that, and they’ll send you instructions about how to use them,” the woman said, carefully. “That isn’t a service we offer.” She paused. “You’re how old?”
“Fifteen,” Morgan said.
The woman paused again. “I won’t tell you what to do, or that you shouldn’t just go ahead and order the pills. That’s an option, and it’s your choice. But I will say that, because of your age, for your own safety, I’d feel better if a doctor could examine you, if you can get here quickly. If that’s feasible.” The woman paused, and what she said next made Morgan sure about her choice. “If you were my daughter, that’s what I’d want.”
“Okay,” Morgan had said as Olivia, who’d been listening, nodded her assent. Morgan made the appointment for the day the trip would be in Syracuse. That, she realized, would be the easy part.
Olivia had offered to come on the bike trip with her, or to meet her in New York. But Morgan knew that Olivia bailing on the summer camp in Maine where her moms had sent her and joining the trip at the last minute, or showing up in Syracuse, would raise Morgan’s parents’ suspicions. She’d made Olivia promise not to tell her mothers, not wanting to run the risk of them telling Morgan’s mom and dad what was going on, even though Olivia promised that they wouldn’t; that they were on Morgan’s side, that they’d help her.
“If it can’t be me, you have to find someone to go with you,” Olivia had instructed, her face still and serious, without even a trace of her usual smile as she’d leaned against her headboard with her knees pulled up to her chest. “You’ve got money?”
Morgan nodded, feeling glad that she’d saved everything she’d earned from babysitting over the last year.
“And you’re sure you don’t want to tell Brody?”
Morgan had nodded again, immediately and vigorously. She and Brody had only had sex twice, and she hadn’t even liked it that much. Two times, for a total of maybe ten minutes, and it hadn’t even felt good! It’ll get better, he’d promised her, except now Brody was off at Fort Benning, with no idea about what was going on. Morgan knew, if she told him what had happened, he’d come rushing home. Maybe he’d go along with her plan, but maybe he’d want to marry her. Her parents would probably want that. And if she didn’t marry Brody, they’d make her have the baby and give it up for adoption. She’d have to go through an entire pregnancy, walking around for months with a big belly and everyone knowing what she’d done. Giving birth. Her mom and dad would be so disappointed. Her dad might even lose his job, because who’d listen to a pastor whose own daughter had disobeyed him?
School would be a nightmare. The girls would all laugh, and some of the boys would think she was a slut; that if she’d slept with one guy she’d be up for doing anything with anyone. That would be bad. Spending the rest of her life knowing that there was a baby, out there in the world—a baby, then a toddler, then a child, a teenager, a person—that would be unendurable. It would be like burning up from the inside, every day, for the rest of her life. It would be more than she could take.
“I can’t tell Brody,” she said to Olivia.
“What about your mom?”
Morgan shook her head even more vehemently. “I can’t.”
Olivia smoothed her polka-dotted bedspread and nodded like she understood, even though Morgan was pretty sure she didn’t. Olivia did not go to Morgan’s church or any church. She talked to her mothers about everything—not just sex, but feelings. Relationships. Even masturbation.
But for Morgan, telling her mother something like this was unthinkable. Lily would be beyond disappointed. It would break her heart.
“You should find someone, then,” Olivia told her. “You can’t just go all by yourself. You need someone to take care of you and make sure you’re safe.”
Morgan had nodded. She’d promised. And she’d consoled herself by thinking that at least she had the big part figured out.
When her dad had gotten the call about the men’s retreat in Arizona, when it had looked, for one heart-stoppingly awful instant like they wouldn’t go on the trip at all, Morgan had been terrified. No, no, we have to go, Morgan had told her mother, begging and pleading and telling her how excited she was about riding the trail and seeing Niagara Falls and spending time with her, until, finally, Lily had agreed. I know it’s a lot of riding, but I’ll help you! Morgan had said. She knew Lily was confused, and maybe angry, that Morgan had barely spent any time with her at all, but the truth was, she was terrified to be around her mom. Scared that she’d give herself away; that her mother would look at her and, somehow, just know; the way she’d known when Morgan was lying about sneaking cookies, or coloring on her dresser with crayons when she’d been little.
Can you keep a secret?
In the park, in New York, Morgan plopped a scoop of macaroni salad on her plate and swallowed hard as her stomach lurched. The noodles looked slimy and disgusting, and even the smell of tuna was making her queasy. Her mother was at a picnic table, with Mrs. Presser and Mrs. Fenske. Abby was over by the sag wagon, talking to Jasper, who was looking at Sebastian’s bike. Andy Presser was sitting under a tree with his brother, devouring the third of four sandwiches he’d piled on his plate.