“Ready?” she asked.
Sebastian nodded. He pulled his neon green rain jacket over his jersey, but not before Abby noticed how it clung to his chest in an unfairly distracting fashion, and scolded herself for noticing. She’d talked to Mark the night before. They’d had a long, pleasant conversation where she’d told him everything about the bike trip. Everything, except for a single word about Sebastian. “I miss you,” Mark had said, at the end of the call.
“Miss you, too,” Abby had said, trying hard to mean it. Trying to not think of how there’d been long stretches of riding where she didn’t even think about Mark, or her life with him, at all, or how, when she did think about him, she did not find the prospect of going back home appealing. She hadn’t told him about the spans of time and stretches of miles when she’d pedaled along and the world felt enormous and full of possibilities, when she imagined being single and didn’t feel lonely or afraid… just free.
“You really don’t have to ride with me,” Sebastian told her, raising his voice so she could hear him over the rain. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sure you will be,” said Abby, who wasn’t sure at all. The day looked like an invitation for accidents and injury. At least they’d be on bike paths for the early parts of the ride. Only there, the issue would be mud, and the way it disguised hazards like loose gravel and roots, rocks and ruts. And the fifteen miles of road riding into Seneca Falls were mostly on two-lane local roads, not especially busy, but drivers wouldn’t be expecting to see cyclists on a day like this, so they might not be as attentive as usual. And even considerate drivers would end up sending sheets of water splashing toward the sides of the road, making you feel like you were riding your bike through a car wash, or a tsunami. “But I still have to go with you.”
For a moment, Sebastian didn’t reply. Abby imagined she could feel the resentment rolling off him, like cartoon squiggles of noxious black. “Look,” he finally said. “I’ll sign a waiver, or whatever you need. I’ll indemnify the company. I promise not to sue if I get hurt.”
Abby bet herself that Sebastian had googled indemnify at some point during breakfast, and with that thought, it was as if some malevolent spirit got ahead of her tongue. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll ride behind you, and I promise not to make eye contact. No one need ever know about our secret love.”
Sebastian stared at her. “Secret love?”
“I’m kidding!” Abby said, rolling her eyes. “It’s okay. You just go ahead, whenever you’re ready. Pretend I’m not here. I’ll see you in Seneca Falls. At the Women’s Rights National Historical Park.”
“The what?”
“There’s a museum dedicated to the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment, and women’s rights.” Abby gave him her biggest, cheesiest grin. “I know you’ll want to check it out. We should all be feminists, right?”
Sebastian just stared at her, shifting his bike from his left hand to his right. “I don’t want to make you ride in this if you don’t want to,” he finally said.
“Lucky for you, I’m part duck. Go on,” she said, and nodded toward the street. “Off you go.”
He paused for another moment. Then he gave her a stiff nod, climbed onto his bike, clipped his shoes into his pedals, and zoomed away, with his rear wheel sending a plume of water spraying up behind him. Abby noted with satisfaction the way it immediately painted a stripe of muddy brown up the center of his back. She also saw that, as usual, he’d stuffed his pinny into his back pocket, even though, today of all days, he could have used it.
She gave him a head start before turning on her own lights and getting on her bike for what was sure to be a long, wet, slow, miserable slog.
Kayla
9:47 a.m.
The Planned Parenthood was on Genesee Street, a few miles away from where they’d stayed and a few blocks away from the university. Kayla had the Uber take her and Morgan and Andy to the university’s admissions building. “We’ll walk from there,” she said, and realized, ruefully, that she’d already started covering her tracks, that she was already behaving like a criminal.
The rain that had canceled the day’s ride also seemed to have kept most of the protestors Kayla had expected at home. There were just a few men holding wet, ragged posters. One had a bullhorn. Kayla made sure Morgan had earbuds in place and her raincoat’s hood pulled up before they were close enough to hear what he was yelling. She kept her hands on Morgan’s shoulders, guiding her inside.
The waiting room was quiet; warm and well-lit, with rows of padded chairs and the blinds closed over the windows. Kayla collected the kids’ raincoats and hung them on a coat tree by the door as Morgan talked to the receptionist. She grabbed a handful of paper towels from the ladies’ room and gave them to Morgan, who accepted them with a faint smile, patting her face dry. Then she sat, staring into the distance with her hands fisted inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
A half dozen times, Kayla started to speak, to ask Morgan if she wanted to talk, if she had any questions, if she wanted a cup of water, or if there was anyone she wanted to call. A half dozen times, she made herself keep quiet, telling herself to just leave the girl alone; that if Morgan wanted anything, she’d ask. Nobody told you how to behave in a situation like this, she thought, and wished, desperately, for some guidance, or that she’d had a chance to call her sister before the day began.
They hadn’t been waiting long when the nurse called Morgan’s name. Kayla felt the girl startle, almost jumping up from her chair, before she turned to Kayla. Her dark eyes were wide, her lips were white around the edges.
“Will you come with me?” she asked.
“Of course I will,” Kayla said.
“I’ll wait,” Andy said, his voice cracking as he looked at Morgan. “I’ll be right here.” Kayla felt her heart swelling as she gave Andy’s shoulder a squeeze.
They were led to an exam room. Kayla stayed outside to give Morgan a few minutes to change. When Morgan called, “You can come in now,” Kayla opened the door and found Morgan sitting on a paper-draped exam table, wearing a hospital gown. Her long, slender legs and bare feet dangled from the table. She was shivering, her skin goose-bumped, her eyes still wide.
“Everything’s fine,” Kayla said, and took her hand. “It’s all going to be okay. They’ll take care of you.” Morgan nodded without looking at her.
There was a knock on the door. “Morgan Mackenzie? Good morning. My name is Delia. I’m a physician’s assistant. I’m going to be taking care of you today.” Delia had long, braided hair, and the rhinestones on her mask twinkled in the light as she stepped into the room. She took Morgan’s history—how old she’d been when she’d gotten her first period, when her last cycle had been, if she’d ever been screened for STIs, what birth control she was using.
“We used condoms,” Morgan said, her voice tiny. “But maybe we used them wrong? Or something? We only did it twice.”
Delia nodded. “Have you ever had a pelvic exam before?”
Morgan shook her head. Of course not, Kayla thought, and tried not to let what she was thinking show on her face. Delia’s voice was low and soothing as she told Morgan to lie back, showing her the instruments, telling her what would happen and what she’d feel. The instant Morgan’s feet were in the stirrups, Morgan reached for Kayla’s hand again, grabbing it and holding on hard. She didn’t let go as Delia snapped on gloves and talked Morgan through the speculum’s insertion, or when she untied her gown and ran an ultrasound wand over the girl’s belly. Morgan lay absolutely still, rigid and unmoving, her eyes closed tight, as the room filled with a rapid thumping sound, one that Kayla remembered from her own pregnancies.
“Okay,” Delia said. “You’re about eight and a half weeks along.”