She tried, “I didn’t—”
“You most certainly did.” He dropped the clipboard on the counter. “Think very carefully about what you’re planning to do next. Do you have the character to accept the blame for your actions or are you going to destroy some poor young man’s future because you couldn’t keep your knees together?”
Emily was crying too hard to answer him.
“That’s what I thought.” He glanced at his watch again. “Nurse Brickel, do the bloodwork to confirm what we already know is the truth. This girl is six weeks into her first trimester. Miss Vaughn, I will give you exactly one hour to tell your father what you’ve been up to before I call and tell him myself.”
Emily felt her mouth working, but she couldn’t form words.
Her father?
He would kill her.
“You heard me.” Dr. Schroeder looked at her one last time, his head shaking in disgust. “One hour.”
Mrs. Brickel gently closed the door behind Dr. Schroeder. Her lips were pursed. She used to make Emily and Melody cookies back when they were little and Emily’s mother was working late at the office.
Now, Mrs. Brickel said, “Emily.”
Emily stuttered out a sob. She couldn’t take another verbal lashing. She already felt as if someone had put a knife in her chest. How would she face her father? What would he do to her? She’d been whipped so hard after she’d made a C in geography last year that the belt had left a scar on the back of her thighs.
“Emily, look at me.” Mrs. Brickel held Emily’s hand tightly. “The exam didn’t tell the doctor anything about how many times you’ve been sexually active. He can only tell that your hymen is broken. That’s it.”
Emily was shocked. “He said—”
“He’s lying,” Mrs. Brickel said. “He’s trying to shame you. But whatever happened, you are not a bad person. You had sex with someone. That’s all you did. It might feel like it’s the end of the world now, but it’s not. You will get through this. Women always do.”
Emily gulped down another sob. She did not want to be a woman. And she especially did not want to face her father. Then it would be the end of the world. He wouldn’t let her go to college. He might not let her finish school. She would be stuck in the house with only Gram to keep her company and then Gram would be gone and there would be nothing.
What was she going to do?
“Sweetie, look at me.” Mrs. Brickel wrapped her hands around Emily’s arms. “I’m not going to lie to you. We both know this is going to be hard, but I know that you’re strong enough to get through it. You are such an amazing girl.”
“I don’t …” Emily’s mind was racing. She felt trapped. Her life was slipping away and there was nothing she could do about it. “What do you think my father will do?”
Mrs. Brickel’s lips pursed again. “We’ll see if the sanctity of Franklin Vaughn’s politics holds up against the sanctity of his country club membership.”
Emily shook her head. She didn’t know what that meant.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” Mrs. Brickel tightened her hold on Emily’s arms. “Is it an option to talk to the father?”
The father?
“Emily, I know it’s not ideal, but if you have feelings for this boy, you’re not too young to get married.”
Married?
“But if you don’t want to, there are other options.”
“What options?” Emily felt the question burst out of her. She was seized by panic. “What am I going to do? How am I going to get through this? I don’t know who the—the father—I don’t know who it is! I told the doctor—I told you—I said I don’t know what happened. I promise you, honestly, I don’t know because I took something and—yes, I took it, but I didn’t know what would happen and I can’t—I can’t tell my father. He’ll kill me, Mrs. Brickel. I know that sounds like I’m being hysterical but he—he’ll—”
Emily cringed at the sound of her crazy voice bouncing around the room. Her heart was a snare drum. Sweat poured off her body. The nausea had returned. Her skin felt weird, like it had vibrated away from the bone. Nothing belonged to her anymore. Dr. Schroeder’s appalled look had said it all. Emily had ceased being Emily. She was a transgressor. She was an other. Her hand went to her stomach—to that thing that someone had put inside of her.
Who?
“Emily.” Mrs. Brickel’s voice was calm, soothing. “You need to get in touch with your mother. Immediately.”
“She’s—” Emily stopped herself. Her mother was at work. She was never to be disturbed unless it was important. “I c-can’t.”
“Tell your mother first,” Mrs. Brickel said. “I know you don’t believe me, but Esther will understand. You are her daughter. She will protect you.”
Emily looked down. Her hands were trembling. She’d sweated through the paper gown. Tears had glued the collar to her neck. They hadn’t done the blood test yet. Maybe this was all a horrible mistake. “Dr. Schroeder said six weeks, but it—I think it was a month ago. That’s four weeks. Not six weeks.”
“The clock starts from the date of your last period,” Mrs. Brickel said. “It’s not from the date of intercourse.”
Intercourse?
The weight of the word bowed Emily’s shoulders. There was no mistake. This terrible nightmare had only just begun. She’d had intercourse with someone and now she was pregnant.
“Emily. Get dressed. Go home. Call your mother.” Mrs. Brickel rubbed her back, coaxing her to move. “You will get through this, precious girl. It’s going to be so hard, but you will get through this.”
Emily could see tears in Mrs. Brickel’s eyes. She knew the woman was lying. But there was no other option than to say, “Okay.”
“Good. Let’s do the blood draw, okay?”
Emily stared at the cabinet over the sink as Mrs. Brickel gathered the supplies. She was quick and efficient, or maybe Emily was numb because she barely felt the needle go in, hardly noticed the Band-Aid being taped to the crook of her elbow.
“All right, that’s done.” Mrs. Brickel opened another drawer, but she was not offering the usual lollipop that was handed out to good patients. She placed a maxi-pad on the counter. “Put this on in case there’s any spotting.”
Emily waited for the door to close. She stared at the pad. Her heart was pounding inside her skull, but her body still felt numb. The hands that pulled up her pants, buttoned her blouse, were not her hands. When Emily slipped her feet into her penny loafers, she had no sense that she controlled her movements. Her muscles were working on their own—opening the door, walking down the hall, through the lobby, outside. The eyes that watered in the morning sun were not hers. The throat that worked to swallow back bile was someone else’s. The pulsing pain between her legs belonged to a stranger.
She stepped onto the sidewalk. Her mind reeled with nothingness. She imagined a carnival. The inner workings of her brain turned into a carousel. She saw the horses moving up and down—not the ice cream parlor or the beach chair rental place or the taffy machine standing dormant in the window as it waited for the tourists that would return in the summer. Emily’s eyes squinted out tears. The carousel rolled faster and faster. The world was spinning. Her vision blurred. Her brain finally, blissfully, turned itself off.