* * *
I waited until the last minute before getting into the car because I didn’t want to be confronted by questions, which was something I was used to from my mom and dad. What did you talk about? Did you like him? Can you imagine him teaching you geometry and editing your papers if needed? Did I make the right choice?
My parents would have been all over me. On almost every school day right up until barf-day—or pee-on-a-stick day, whatever—they always asked me how school went, like attending classes was some sort of magical, mysterious production that everyone would find fascinating. No matter how many times I simply said that it was fine—which really meant Stop asking me such a dumb question—they continued to ask. And honestly, aside from fine, what was I supposed to say? They’d been to school. They knew what it was like. A teacher stood up front and taught stuff that I was supposed to learn in order to do well on tests, none of which were ever any fun.
Now lunch, that could sometimes be interesting. Or when I was younger, recess might have been something to talk about. But school? School was just…school.
Thankfully, my aunt and Gwen were chatting about the sermon we’d heard in church, which I barely remembered, and obviously, the ride took only a few minutes. We drove to the shop first, where I helped them unload their supplies, but instead of dropping Gwen off, we brought her with us to my aunt’s house so she could help us haul the Christmas tree inside.
Despite my pregnancy, and despite them being older ladies, we were somehow able to muscle it up the steps and prop it in a stand that Aunt Linda retrieved from the back of the hall closet. By then, I was kind of tired and I think they were, too. Instead of decorating right away, my aunt and Gwen got busy in the kitchen. Aunt Linda made fresh biscuits while Gwen heated up yet more Thanksgiving leftovers.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, and I cleared my plate for the first time in a while. And, maybe because Bryce had said something about them, I realized the biscuits were tastier than usual. As I reached for a second one, I saw Aunt Linda smile.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m just glad you’re eating,” my aunt said.
“What’s in these biscuits?”
“The basics—flour, buttermilk, shortening.”
“Anything secret in the recipe?”
If she wondered why I cared, she didn’t let on. She cast a conspiratorial glance at Gwen before facing me again. “Of course.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a secret,” she said with a wink.
We didn’t talk more after that, and once I finished doing the dishes, I retreated to my room. Outside my window, the sky was filled with stars and I could see the moon hovering over the water, making the ocean glow almost silver. I slipped into my pajamas and was about to crawl in bed when I suddenly remembered that I still had to do the paper on Thurgood Marshall. Grabbing my notes—I’d at least gotten that far—I started the actual writing. I’d always been okay at writing—not great, but definitely better than I was at math—and had gotten through a page and a half when I heard a knock at the door. Glancing up, I saw Aunt Linda poke her head in. When she noticed I was doing homework, she lifted an eyebrow, but I’m sure she immediately thought it was better not to say anything lest my progress come to a screeching halt.
“The kitchen looks great,” she said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner.”
“It was just leftovers.” She shrugged. “Except for the biscuits. You should call your parents tonight. It’s still early there.”
I eyed the clock. “They’re probably eating dinner. I’ll call them in a little bit.”
She quietly cleared her throat. “I wanted to let you know that when I spoke with Bryce, I didn’t tell him about…well, your situation. I just said that my niece had come to stay with me for a few months and left it at that.”
I hadn’t known I’d been concerned about that but felt myself expel a breath of relief.
“Didn’t he ask why?”
“He might have, but I stuck to the subject of whether he’d be willing to tutor you.”
“But you told him about me.”
“Only because he said he needed to know something about you.”
“If I want him to be my tutor, you mean.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “And not that it matters, but he’s the same young man who fixed your bicycle.”
I already knew that, but I was still pondering the prospect of seeing him day after day. “What if I promised to catch up on my own? Without his help?”
“Can you? Because you know I can’t help you. It’s been a long time since I was in school.”
I hesitated. “What should I say if he asks me why I’m here?”
She considered it. “It’s important to remember that none of us is perfect. Everyone makes mistakes. All we can do is try to be the best version of ourselves as we move forward. In this case, if he asks, you can tell the truth, or you can lie. I suppose it comes down to the kind of person you want to see when you look in the mirror.”
I winced, knowing I never should have asked a former nun a question that dealt with morality. With no possible comeback to that, I returned to the obvious. “I don’t want anyone to know. Including him.”
She offered a sad smile. “I know you don’t. But bear in mind that pregnancy is a hard secret to keep, especially in a village like Ocracoke. And once you start showing…”
She didn’t have to finish. I knew what she meant.
“What if I don’t leave the house?”
Even as I said it, I knew how unrealistic that idea was. I rode the ferry with others from Ocracoke to go to church on Sundays; I would have to see a doctor in Morehead City, which meant yet more ferry rides. I’d been in my aunt’s shop. People already knew I was on the island, and no doubt some of them were wondering about the reason. For all I knew, Bryce was doing the same thing. They might not be thinking pregnancy, but they would suspect that I was in some sort of trouble. With my family, with drugs, with the law, with…something. Why else would I have shown up out of the blue in the middle of winter?
“You think I should tell him, don’t you?”
“I think,” she said, drawing out the words, “that he’s going to learn the truth, whether you want him to or not. It’s just a matter of when, and who tells him. I think it would be best if it came from you.”
I stared out the window, unseeing. “He’s going to think I’m a terrible person.”
“I doubt that.”
I swallowed, hating this, hating all of it. My aunt remained silent, allowing me to think. In that way, I had to admit, she was way better than my parents.
“I guess Bryce can be my tutor.”
“I’ll let him know,” she said, her voice quiet. Then, clearing her throat, she asked, “What are you working on?”
“I’m hoping to be done with the first draft of my paper tonight.”
“I’m sure it’ll be great. You’re an intelligent young lady.”
Tell my parents that, I thought. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything you need before I turn in? A glass of milk, maybe? I have an early day tomorrow.”