Wishful Thinking (10 page)

Jaime looked past Hazel toward the water. Her eyes caught the reflection of the moon shining back from the pond, and her skin looked soft and smooth. In the quiet, and in this light, there was no doubt about it. Jaime was beautiful.

She took another deep breath and looked back to Hazel.

“I’m not upset because I have to move. I’m not even upset about Rosanna. I’m not
upset,”
she insisted. “I’m pregnant.”

“W
ait here,” Jaime said the next morning. “If I don’t eat something, I’m going to hurl.”

Hazel stood in front of a shingled shack at the harbor, watching numbly as cars poured off of the boat, returning to the mainland. She had agreed the night before to go with Jaime to the clinic, without realizing that it would involve taking a day off from work, taking the shuttle to town, getting back on the boat, and waiting at a bus stop for the better part of the morning.

Jaime returned with a candy bar from the vending machine and plopped onto the wooden bench. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Hazel rolled her eyes. “You can’t just take one over-the-counter test,” she said. Not that she had any idea, but based on a few TV movies and one incredibly uncomfortable semester of Health and the Human Body, it seemed like going for a checkup was an important next step. “And if you’re too scared to go to a clinic on the island …”

“I told you, I’m not
scared
,” Jaime hissed. “I just don’t want to deal with it. The secretary was my fourth-grade teacher. The nurse is Maura’s stepmom.”

Hazel kicked at the dusty ground. It was a spectacularly sunny day, and the water sparkled. It seemed almost surreal that she had agreed to make the trip with Jaime. But it wasn’t as if she could really say no. If there had been anyone else for Jaime to ask, she would have. Hazel didn’t flatter herself to think that she’d been Jaime’s top choice.

The shuttle finally slowed to a stop in front of them, and Jaime took a seat up front, huddling herself against the window. Hazel watched as Jaime took out a beat-up-looking Discman—Hazel could hardly remember a time before iPods—and settled the bulky black headphones over her ears. Hazel found an empty seat across the aisle.

Part of Hazel felt relieved that they wouldn’t have to talk, but another part of her was full of questions. How had this happened? Who was the father? Was it the boyfriend Emmett had mentioned? Why hadn’t Hazel ever seen him around?

Hazel looked out the window, leaning in her seat as the shuttle took a sharp corner out of the parking lot. What was she
doing
here? She was hardly qualified to offer any kind of advice, not that Jaime would ever ask for it. Hazel had kissed only one boy in her life: Max, a neighbor in San Francisco who used to invite her over to play video games when his parents were at work. It had only happened once, and hardly lasted more than a second. She’d avoided him afterward, taking the long way around her block any time she needed to pass his building, and that was that.

It didn’t make sense. She was just starting to get used to
the idea that she’d woken up in the past, across the country, and had been given a chance to get to know her mother while she was alive. And now here she was, taking day trips with Jaime, the one person she’d been trying to get away from since she’d gotten to the island.

It wasn’t that she didn’t feel bad for Jaime. She did. She couldn’t imagine what must be going through Jaime’s mind. Rosanna was sick, they were selling the estate, and now this? But, for the most part, the whole excursion seemed like a colossal waste of time.

The shuttle squealed to a stop and Hazel followed Jaime down to the curb.

Falmouth Center was a quaint little village, with souvenir shops and cafés similar to the ones on the Vineyard. But even though Hazel had spent only a few days on the island, she could already feel a mainland difference. It was a pace thing, maybe. Or just the buried knowledge that where she stood now was connected to the rest of the country, as opposed to the island, where it sort of always felt like floating. She didn’t know why, but she missed it already.

Jaime ducked between two lanes of traffic and Hazel scurried to keep up. Across the street was a small brick building, set back from the road with a little oval sign swinging out front.
FALMOUTH FREE WOMEN’S CLINIC
, it read. Hazel paused at the sign, considering it carefully. Something was wrong with the wording. Was the clinic only for free women? But
Free Falmouth
would have sounded like a command.

“What are you doing?” Jaime huffed from the top of the stairs. “Why don’t you just put out an ad in the paper? Jaime Wells is knocked up!”

Hazel hurried to meet Jaime at the door. Jaime stood with her hand on the knob, staring at her dirty sneakers. She was in her work clothes, patched jean cutoffs, and a faded blue and red Coca-Cola T-shirt. She didn’t look old enough to get into a PG-13 movie on her own, let alone have any reason to be visiting a women’s clinic. Free or otherwise.

Hazel stepped in front of Jaime and opened the other door. “Ready?” she asked, trying her best to sound warm and nurturing.

Jaime rolled her eyes and pushed her way inside. “Move.”

The clinic waiting room was loud and crowded, which hadn’t been part of the plan. Young mothers (most not as young as Jaime, but definitely not card-carrying adults) pushed strollers and jiggled unhappy newborns on their laps. On a low couch in the corner, an extremely pregnant woman was sprawled out with a washcloth on her forehead. It basically could have been a Public Service Announcement for saving oneself for marriage.

Or eternity.

Jaime did a quick survey of the room and, after deciding that she didn’t recognize anyone, made her way to the receptionist. A heavy woman with frizzy blond hair and too much mascara passed Jaime a form on a clipboard. “Fill this out and take a seat,” she ordered between sips from a can of orange soda.

Hazel found them a pair of seats by the door. She sat quietly while Jaime studied the form, the end of her pen tapping furiously against the metal clip at the top. Seated diagonally across from them was a young couple around their age. The girl had straight black hair down to her waist, and the guy was gripping the armrests of his chair like they were the only
things keeping him from bolting. They were trying desperately not to make eye contact with each other or anyone else. Hazel swallowed hard and looked at the dirty gray carpet. The couple looked like they had a story to tell, and Hazel was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear it.

“I guess this is it,” Jaime said suddenly. “I mean, after this I’ll know for sure.”

Hazel looked up at her, wracking her brain for supportive things to say.

“It’s better to know than, um … not … know” was her tepid contribution.

Jaime turned to face her. She had dark, deep circles under her eyes and her hair flew up in curls around her temples. She looked terrified.

“Wow,” she said drily. “I sure hope you’re not considering a career in motivational speaking.”

Hazel’s stomach flipped but soon the corners of Jaime’s mouth pulled up and she was laughing. It was a sound Hazel hadn’t heard before, and maybe it was the shock of seeing Jaime smile, but before she knew what was happening, Hazel was laughing, too. Soon they had to cover their mouths to keep quiet. Hazel felt suddenly like she could finally take full breaths again. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d laughed, either.

“Okay,” Jaime said, taking a deep breath and evenly letting it out. “Here goes nothing.”

She laid the form on the armrest and pushed herself up off the chair. The clipboard dropped to the floor and Hazel bent down to grab it. As she passed the board to Jaime, something caught her eye and she held on a moment longer.

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked, pulling the clipboard harder.

But Hazel’s grip was tight. She stared at the printed form and around her everything was suddenly quiet. The high-pitched squeals of uncomfortable babies, the hushed conversations, the bland elevator music piped in through the walls. All of it faded away, and Hazel could see only two words.

At the top of the form, where Jaime’s name should have been, she’d written two words. Two words Hazel had seen before.

After
NAME OF PATIENT
, it read:

ROSANNA SCOTT.

The two words that had changed Hazel’s life once before were about to change it all over again.

“A
m I interrupting?”

Hazel was huddled behind a green Dumpster outside of the clinic when she heard Jaime’s voice. She steadied herself with one hand on the brick wall, dragging her weighted limbs to standing.

Everything that had happened since she’d fumbled her way out of the clinic was a blur. She remembered watching Jaime’s back as it disappeared down a long hallway, and the next thing she knew she was on her knees behind the Dumpster, dry heaving and seeing spots.

Her brain was screaming at her, broken thoughts battling for attention.

Rosanna is my mother.

Rosanna is
not
my mother.

Jaime
is my mother.

It just wasn’t possible. Jaime was too young. Jaime looked nothing like her.

Jaime was kind of a bitch.

But the one, indisputable fact about Jaime was that she was standing behind a low wall of trimmed hedges, her face bobbing between the branches as she peered at Hazel on the other side. “What are you
doing
?” she asked, her voice sharp and bewildered as Hazel walked slowly toward the narrow path.

“Nothing,” Hazel mumbled, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her thin cotton sweater. “I guess I felt a little sick from the boat.”

Jaime crossed her arms, cutting the cartoon image of the Coke bottle on her T-shirt in half. She rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket.

“Well, it looks like I’ll be in charge of the morning sickness from here on out,” she said flatly, slapping a folded packet of papers into Hazel’s palm. Jaime turned on her heels and started walking, leaving Hazel to unfold the papers. It was information about the clinic, checklists, appointments, and a list of reference books.

“What To Expect When You’re Expecting.”

Hazel’s head went numb again and a sharp pain pierced her in the side.

“Let’s go, Blondie,” Jaime called from the middle of the street. “We have a boat to catch.”

“Wait,” Hazel said, just loud enough for Jaime to hear her. An older couple in a convertible screeched to a stop as Jaime hopped back to the sidewalk.

“What is the problem?” Jaime huffed.

Hazel stared at the paperwork in her hand before glancing up at Jaime’s face with tired, searching eyes. “Rosanna,” Hazel managed. “Why did you use Rosanna’s name on the forms?”

Jaime crossed her arms again and shrugged as if it was no
big deal. “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I guess I just got nervous. And it’s not like Rosanna’s ever going to come here. She can’t even have kids.”

Jaime’s eyes were darting impatiently across the sidewalk, and Hazel felt her heart sink even lower. “Can’t have kids?” she asked. “Why … why not?”

Hazel’s head was pounding. Jaime had to be wrong. Rosanna was her mother. She
had
to be.

Jaime rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “I don’t know the details, Hazel, I just know she can’t get pregnant. Why else would she keep us all around so long? There’s not
that
much work to be done.” Jaime looked back to the bus stop. “Can we please go now?” she asked.

Hazel swallowed, nodding numbly, and followed Jaime across the street.

Neither Jaime nor Hazel said much on the ferry ride home. Jaime sunk into another indoor seat, immediately fumbling for her headphones, and Hazel went for a walk on the deck. There was no way she could sit still and stare at the girl who was suddenly, apparently, her mother. They hadn’t even pulled out of the harbor yet and already it was starting to feel like the longest forty-five minutes of her life.

Hazel walked upstairs to the top deck. She found an empty chair in the front row of low plastic seats, where the wind was the strongest. She could hardly keep her eyes open against the billowing gusts of sea air, but she didn’t care. At least it gave her something real to fight against.

She thought back to the crowded waiting room. Jaime had used Rosanna’s name at the clinic. Which meant that all of her medical records from the clinic would be under that name.
Which meant that when the records were transferred to the hospital where she was born, Rosanna’s name would be on her birth certificate, not Jaime’s. Whether she liked it or not, Jaime was her mother.

And she didn’t like it, not one little bit. She didn’t know why, but the only thing she could identify happening inside of her, the only feeling she had a name for, was rage. She was furious.

First, with Jaime. For being so careless. Clearly Jaime had made a decision to sleep with somebody and not use protection. Or, at least, not use it well. Not that she’d had much experience, but Hazel couldn’t imagine ever being so cavalier.

Mostly because she couldn’t imagine anything worse than getting stuck, so young, with a baby. It seemed like all people did was change their minds and make mistakes. At school, she’d walk down the halls with her head down, secretly watching the couples of the moment, holding hands by the lockers, or sucking each other’s faces off in dark corners behind the gym. And though she knew that there had to be a part of her, somewhere, that was jealous, usually she just felt better off. Because she was also there watching when, a few months or even weeks later, those same couples threw eye-darts at each other across the cafeteria, after things turned sour. And things always,
always
turned sour.

And then, when each half of the couple decided to do it all over again, she’d watched all that from the sidelines, too. Holding new hands, sucking new faces, and pretending like this time it was going to last.

What kind of a person would want to bring a baby into something like that? What was Jaime thinking? It didn’t make sense.