The Way Back (2 page)

“Or a curse.” Gram had been divorced three times.

“Who did you sleep with?” Gigi folded her arms across her chest and stared at Colby. “And why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't tell you
everything
.”

“Yes, you do.”

Colby shrugged. “Not really.”

“Who, then?”

“Just some guy.”

Gram put a hand on her shoulder. “Was it rape?”

“No, no, no,” Colby protested. “Nothing like that, Gram. Not at all.”

“Well, then?” Gigi raised her voice. “Who the hell was it?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“You hooked back up with Otto. That's it.”

“No.” Colby had broken up with Otto three months ago, and she was only a month late for her period, now that she thought about it. She knew exactly who the dad was. “Not Otto.”

“Then
who
?”

But Colby wasn't ready to tell.

She might not ever be. She squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to think of any baby. And she didn't want to think of any father.

Her own father had disappeared. She hadn't heard from him since her birthday in November, when he'd left a message on her phone.

Happy birthday, Sparkle.

That was it.

He'd left a couple of months before that, after getting into a fight with his girlfriend, Sheila. He'd ended up shoving her, and she fell against a corner and cut her forehead. She called the cops, but Colby's dad took off before they showed up. Sheila had been screaming at him for hours about how he needed to get a job, and how he was a bum and a failure and a useless junkie. He'd been sitting in his chair in the living room, staring at the crossword in the paper, letting it all slide, but then he snapped. He lunged for Sheila, growling like a monster.

Gigi and Colby had heard the whole thing. They were in Colby's room, eavesdropping to figure out when would be a good time to slip out. They heard Sheila scream, then a thud. Then the front door slammed shut.

Then the sirens.

Colby hadn't seen him since.

He'd taken off a couple of times before but had always come back two or three days later, after a binge. He'd plod around with a guilty expression for a week or so, while booze reeked from his pores, and then he'd stick around for a while.

But this time, he hadn't come back.

And then Sheila had kicked Colby out, because why would she take care of “that asshole's bitchy kid”?

Which is how Colby ended up living with Gigi and Gram. Which is why she was having supper with them, and not her dad and Sheila. She didn't miss Sheila. Not at all. But she missed her dad. A lot.

If she'd ever really known her mom, she might've missed her too. She'd died when Colby was three. Her dad said it was a seizure, but Colby was pretty sure her mom had overdosed.

Forget mothers and fathers. They were useless.

Forget the baby.

She'd get rid of it.

No way was she going to be a mom.

No way.

Colby reached for a piece of bread, then changed her mind.

Even that repulsed her.

She rested her hands in her lap instead.

Despite everything, she wanted her dad. Right now.

She wanted to tell him about the baby. She wanted to tell him about everything that had happened between the moment he'd slammed that door and this moment now. She wanted him to tell her what to do.

Gigi was still pestering her about who the baby's daddy was. Colby glanced up. Gigi's cheeks were pink with frustration. Her black curly hair bounced around her face as she yelled. Her hands flapped. Gigi always flapped her hands when she was excited.

“If you don't tell me who you slept with, I won't talk to you ever again. Seriously.”

Colby shook her head.

“Then get the hell out of my house! We're more than best friends, Colby. We're
sisters.
How can you lie to me?”

“Not lying,” Colby muttered. “Just not telling.”

“Same thing.”

“It's not. One is omission, the other is a falsehood.”

“What?” Gigi stared at her, hands on her hips.

Gram slapped the table, just hard enough to get the girls' attention.

“Enough!” She pointed at Gigi. “Sit. Eat. Be quiet.”

Gigi opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it and sat. She glowered at Colby. “You'll tell me. I know you will.”

“And you.” Gram placed a hand on Colby's shoulder. “You are not going anywhere. You live here. Pay no attention to Gigi. She's mad, that's all. You keep your secrets if you want. We all have them.”

“Thanks, Gram. Don't tell anyone I'm pregnant, okay?” Colby caught Gigi's angry gaze. “No one. Please?”

“Just Milo.”

“
No one
. I don't even know for sure. And maybe I'll have a miscarriage.” No way was she going to mention abortion in Gram's company. Gram firmly believed that abortion was murder. “Please don't tell.”

“We won't tell anyone. Not yet,” Gram said. “If you change your mind, you tell us. Then we tell only if you want. For now, it's a secret.”

“Who was it?” Gigi tried again.

“Secret,” Colby murmured.

“We don't have secrets. Not between us, Colby. Come on.”

“So what if she wants it to be secret?” Gram shrugged. “That's okay.”

Gigi narrowed her eyes at Colby. “It was Mick, wasn't it? I bet you slept with him to get back at Otto.”

For a moment, Colby debated saying it was Mick just to shut her up. But just knowing wouldn't be good enough for Gigi. She'd want details, and that's when Gigi always caught Colby in a lie.

Colby shook her head. “Not Mick.”

Colby stood up. “I'm going to go lie down.”

“Not in my room,” Gigi said. “Traitor.”

“Yes in your room,” Gram said. “It's Colby's room too.”

But Colby ended up in the bathroom instead, kneeling in front of the toilet. She'd never been so grateful for a clean toilet in all her life. Between bouts of barfing and dry heaves, Colby thought about the boy who was the father. And how she'd go about telling him. If she told him at all.

the fox

First of all, Colby had to get clean. If getting pregnant wasn't enough of a kick in the pants, Colby figured she should just jump off a bridge now. Even if she wasn't keeping the baby, it wasn't fair to soak it in meth.

Twenty minutes after she peed on the pregnancy-test stick and an hour after she got high, Colby walked to the nearest Ministry of Children and Family Development office and right up to the front desk.

“I need rehab.”

The secretary looked up. “Good morning.” She pointed to a sign on the wall.
Please take a number
.

“I'm pregnant.” Colby put a hand to her stomach. “If I wait, I'll puke. On the carpet.”

“Okeydokey.” The secretary wrinkled her nose, but her smile was kind. “Sit for a minute. I'll see what I can do.”

Colby sat, one hand in her purse on the waxed-paper bag Gram had given her before she left. It was like the ones on the airplane, tall and narrow with the little tabs that fold in. Colby glanced at it. She doubted she could get all the barf into it. It was a very small bag.

Colby surveyed the people nearby, trying to distract herself. A fat woman with three kids fighting over the one piece of chalk in the play corner. Two more toddlers wrestling with a broken yellow truck while their moms ignored them. A girl about Colby's age with an infant in her lap. The baby stared at Colby with damp eyes, one finger hooked in the corner of its mouth.

“Boy or girl?” Colby asked.

“Boy.” The girl gave him a halfhearted bounce on her knee.

“What's his name?”

“Aiden.”

“That's nice.” And then the nausea welled up again and Colby stared at her feet, gripping the barf bag in one hand.

“You pregnant?” the girl asked.

Colby nodded.

“Congratulations.” There was snark in her tone. Colby wasn't sure what to say back. “What are you going to do?”

“Do?”

“Like, get rid of it? Or have it?” The girl blinked at her. “I had, like, three abortions before I had him. And I only had him because I didn't know I was pregnant until, like, way too late. I thought I was getting fat.”

Colby straightened. “Wow.”

“So?”

“What?” Colby put a hand to her mouth and muttered, “Excuse me.” She lurched to her feet and ran out the door. She managed to open the bag, but, as she suspected, most of the vomit splattered onto the sidewalk. She put a hand on a wall and heaved. “Stupid bag.” She flung it to the ground.

An old lady waiting for the bus handed Colby a wet wipe. “There you go, dear. Take a breath. Get it all out.”

“Thank you.” Colby heaved again, but nothing came. “I'm pregnant.”

“Oh, lovely!” The old lady handed her another wet wipe. “I love babies. I love their wee toes. And their soft heads.”

“Me too,” Colby blurted.

“Must be on my way. You keep these.” She handed Colby the packet of wet wipes. She put her palm on Colby's flat tummy. “Congratulations, dear. What a gift.”

Colby returned to the office. She didn't know if she liked baby toes or their soft heads. She'd just said it because she wasn't sure what else to say. She'd looked after kids sometimes, but never little babies. She didn't know if she liked babies at all.

The girl with the baby was gone, and Colby was glad for it. She didn't want to answer any questions about what she was going to do with the baby.

When she thought about getting rid of it, she felt a wash of anxiety flush through her.

When she thought about having it, she felt the same wash of worry.

Right now, she needed to get clean.

The secretary waved. “Ready for you.”

She pointed Colby toward a door held open by a slender man wearing a blue bow tie and blue-and-green-striped suspenders.

“That's a pretty gay outfit,” Colby said as he ushered her through.

“That's the point.” He led them to his office, decorated with framed art of foxes. Illustrations, paintings, even the print on the curtains had jolly little foxes on them. Colby sat. “Now, what can I do for you?”

Colby pointed to the row of ceramic and plastic foxes lined up along the front of his desk. “What's with the foxes?”

“Dapper and debonair. Like me. I collect them.”

“No shit. Super gay.”

“No shit, indeed. I'm Mr. Horvath, Super Gay.”

“You're not old enough to be called mister.”

“Then you can call me sir.”

“All right,
sir
.” Colby picked up a small plastic fox and turned it in her hand.

“Now, let's talk about you.” Mr. Horvath sat back and crossed his legs. He gripped his top knee with both hands and smiled. “Janet at the front mentioned rehab. You want to go to rehab.”

“Yeah.” Colby nodded. “Right away. Like, now.”

“That's unlikely.” Mr. Horvath uncrossed his legs and pulled his chair to his desk. He typed something and stared at the computer screen. “Typically it's a six-week wait.” He scrolled down the screen. “Puts us in mid-July.”

“I'm pregnant.”

Without even glancing up, he typed some more. “Okay, then. That changes things.” He sat back again. “Be ready tomorrow.”

“Just like that?”

“Clean mommies make for healthier babies.”

“Right.”

“How far along are you?”

“Six weeks.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“I'm positive.”

“We'll arrange a dating ultrasound while you're in rehab.” Mr. Horvath stood. “I'll be right back, with a cup you'll need to pee in.”

“I know exactly when it happened.”

“Still. We like to be sure.”

“I am totally sure.”

“Yes, well, I hear that a lot. Plus, we'll test for drugs. What will we find?”

“Meth. Heroin. Some other stuff too probably.”

“All right. Be right back.”

As soon as he left, Colby shuffled the toy foxes closer together, filling in the gap where the one in her hand had been. She tucked that one in her purse.

Mr. Horvath came back and handed her a cup with an orange lid and a little baggie with her name on it. “Pee into the cup, cup goes into the bag, bag goes into the cupboard beside the toilet. Easy peasy.”

“Where am I going?”

“Down the hall, first door on your left.”

“No, I mean tomorrow.”

“Meadow Farm. Near Powell River. For expectant moms or moms with kids. Lovely place.”

Expectant moms. It sounded so old-fashioned, like his bow tie and suspenders.

“You've been?”

“Seen the brochures. Waterfront. Nice log buildings. Indoor pool.”

Reminded, he pulled open his file cabinet and held out a brochure.

“Wait.” He didn't let Colby take the brochure. “All of this is based on the fact that you're going through with the pregnancy. If you have plans to terminate it, we can come up with a different place for you.”

Colby shook her head. She didn't want to wait six weeks for rehab, even if she wasn't going to keep the baby. She wanted to go now.

“Keeping it.”

First things first. Get clean. She needed time and space to think, away from everything.

If she decided on an abortion, she'd have to leave rehab to get it done in time. If she was going to keep the baby, she wanted to do right by it. As that thought occurred to her, another one did too. If she was going to have the baby and give it away, she still wanted to do right by the baby.

No matter what she decided, getting clean was the first step.

Abortion.

Adoption.

Keep it.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch an unwanted baby by the toe.