“I see,” said Eliza.
They passed houses with broken lobster traps awaiting repair sitting out front, and they passed a house with an old skiff in the front yard with two kids playing in it. Then they passed a couple of brand-new, impressive houses: summer homes. Eliza looked at the area through the eyes of a tourist. Of course people came from all over. It really was a wonderful place to visit. The ice-cold Atlantic, the buttery lobster rolls, the blueberry crisp. Great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there! Wasn’t that how the old saying went?
She saw Phineas Tarbox’s face suddenly in her mind’s eye; she saw Rob sitting up and saying firmly, “The guardian will be my mother.” Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
They passed the old sardine cannery, now closed, and a couple of antique shops attached to houses, and a sign for pottery pointing toward Machias. Eventually they passed the high school.
“High school,” sighed Eliza.
“Yeah,” said Mary.
“Goodbye and good riddance,” said Eliza, and Mary made a small sound that sounded like affirmation. Eliza continued, “Do people in high school still go out to the Point and drink beer on the rocks?”
“I guess,” said Mary. There was a wistful tone to her voice that sort of made Eliza want to cry.
“I used to like that part,” said Eliza. “Among other things.” She divided her high school time into two sections: before she was with Russell, and after. “But the rest of it—”
“Yeah,” said Mary again.
“The good thing is, it only lasts four years.”
“Right.”
After that the speed limit increased and there was nothing much to look at but trees and the occasional side road leading to a house. Eliza pointed out to Mary where two of her high school friends had lived, and Mary absorbed the information politely, and after a while she said, “What would you do?”
Eliza was startled by the question. “What would I do about what?” Though of course as soon as the words were out it was obvious.
“If you were me.”
Eliza cleared her throat and kept her eyes on the road. “If I were you, right now, in your situation?”
“Yes,” said Mary fiercely. “Right now, what would you do if you were me, right now. Nobody will tell me. I just need somebody to tell me what to do.”
“Well,” said Eliza carefully. “That depends on a lot of things.”
“I figured you would say something like that.”
Eliza felt like Mary had slapped her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, something vague. Because you would never be dumb enough to get yourself in this position. You don’t know.”
Eliza glanced quickly at Mary and then back again. They were passing Jordan’s. Eliza said, “Those are the best root beer floats in the entire universe.”
Mary said, “I agree,” and after that they were both silent for a while, until Mary said, “I’m sorry. That was rude, what I said.”
“That’s okay.” Eliza stood on the edge of her thoughts and walked back and forth across them for a while. “I understand why you feel that way.”
“So what does it depend on?”
“Well, most important, where’s the father in all of this?”
She thought about what Russell said at the bar: They think he’s pulling some shit. That guy’s no good.
Mary said, “I haven’t told him. So he isn’t anywhere in this, yet.”
There was a long pause. They were on the outskirts of Ellsworth now: the big city. As it were. Eliza waited for Mary to speak, and eventually she said, very quietly, “He gets in these moods—”
Eliza sucked in her breath and felt a thump in her stomach. She asked, “What kind of moods?”
“Just these—black moods. Where nothing is right. You turn right here, and then left into the parking lot.” She nodded her head toward the window, and Eliza followed the instructions and then slid into a parking spot. At the same time the GPS announced, “You have reached your destination!”
FAMILY PLANNING, said the sign. PRENATAL CARE. Eliza turned to face Mary, who was looking steadily to the side, out her window.
Eliza reminded herself to tread carefully, reminded herself that this girl was not her daughter, that she had no true right to give advice, and said, “Let me ask you this,” said Eliza. “Why are you with him?”
Mary shrugged and made a funny little motion with her mouth, curling her lip up. “I guess I’m not sure where else to be.”
Eliza couldn’t believe how swiftly the wave of anger rose up in her, quick as a licking flame. “That’s a terrible answer. Mary, that’s an awful reason.”
Mary put her knuckles to her mouth and bit them and nodded.
“I’m sorry if that sounded harsh,” said Eliza, in a softer tone. “But it’s true.”
Mary nodded again.
This girl was only four years older than Zoe, only seven years older than Evie! Eliza owed it to her to ask the next question, just as she’d expect someone Zoe or Evie might confide in in a similar situation to ask them. (God, please, seriously, absolutely forbid Zoe or Evie being in a similar situation.) She asked, “Has he ever hurt you?”
“No. No.” But Mary paused before she said it, she definitely paused. Black moods.
Eliza pressed on, still looking straight ahead, in case that helped Mary answer more honestly. “Do you think he could?”
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“But you don’t know that he couldn’t.” Eliza tightened her grip on the steering wheel even though the car wasn’t moving. She watched the white fill in her knuckles.
No answer.
Now she turned toward her. “Mary. You don’t know that he couldn’t, is that right?”
Mary met Eliza’s gaze, unblinking. “I guess not.”
“Then you have to leave him. Now, Mary. Right away. I mean it. You can’t be with someone you don’t trust. You can’t have a baby with someone you don’t trust.”
“I’ll be late,” said Mary. She opened the car door and climbed out.
Eliza said, “Wait!”
Mary waited, the door open, her hand on the Audi’s outside door handle. Her hair hung over her face, and if Eliza had been Mary’s mother she would have walked around the car and tucked her hair behind her ear, and then she would have squeezed her shoulders and told her it was all going to be okay.
Was it, though?
Eliza sighed and said, “I wish I could decide everything for you, Mary. But I can’t.”
“Yeah. I know.” Something changed in Mary’s face: a resoluteness seemed to come over it. An adultness, if that was a word. She pressed her lips together.
“But I can tell you—” said Eliza. She stopped, unsure what to say next.
Mary looked up from underneath her hair, and the resoluteness gave way to a hopefulness that made Eliza feel disconcerted and inadequate. “What?”
Eliza cleared her throat. “I can tell you that there are a lot of different ways to be okay.” Mary didn’t say anything, but her gaze was steady, her hand still on the door handle. “All right? You don’t have to say anything. Just nod if that makes sense.”