Page 58

Now, eager to get out of the house, I hurriedly dressed and joined Mrs. Matthews at the front door. She held her hand on the knob and looked at me as if she was deciding then and there whether to let me out.

“There are things to remember now, Audrina. You’re out in public. Do not walk quickly. You’re in your seventh month. No fast moves in the supermarket. For our purposes, it would be best if you looked somewhat uncomfortable. Occasionally, put your hand on your lower back. Arden and I have discussed all this,” she added. “If there are many people at the market, we might decide to cut the shopping short because you’re having problems. Any questions?”

I stood stunned and speechless. Then I turned around and saw that Arden had heard it all.

He nodded and smiled. “Don’t mess things up now, Audrina,” he warned. “Listen closely, and do exactly what Mrs. Matthews tells you to do.”

“Ready?” she asked.

I nodded, and she opened the door.

“Watch yourself on the steps,” Arden called from behind us. I glanced back at him. He had a wide, impish smile on his face. If I could only enjoy this as much as he apparently was, I thought. I closed the door and followed Mrs. Matthews to her car, a blue station wagon that looked like she had driven it for a decade.

It was the sort of summer day Sylvia would love, I thought as I looked at the burst of color, the soft green, olive, and emerald leaves. Wildflowers were everywhere, and the squirrels were as lively as ever, doing amazing gymnastic feats on the tree branches. I remembered how much pleasure Sylvia got from sitting and watching them for hours, one or two coming very close to her until she’d raise her hand or start moving in their direction. When she was an infant, she would crawl around on the grass, and if she found a dandelion, she would immediately put it in her mouth.

Soon, I thought, she would be able to be outside and enjoy nature again.

“Your sister is doing very well,” Mrs. Matthews said as we drove along the road to Whitefern village. “I am not anticipating any difficulties with the delivery.”

“I don’t want her to be in too much pain.”

She looked at me and raised her thin eyebrows. “Some pain is good,” she said. “It’s the body’s way of giving us instruction. Like what to avoid.”

She sounded too much like Aunt Ellsbeth. “What do you mean?”

“The pain of a burn, the sting of a bee. Pain protects us, too.”

“Well, it wasn’t her fault she was burned and stung.”

“No, but I doubt she’ll be as easy to abuse after this,” she said.

I turned away and stared at the side of the road, where trees ran into trees. Houses didn’t appear for miles, our nearest neighbor living twelve miles from Whitefern. I never thought much about them or any of the families farther along the way. Once, according to my mother and Aunt Ellsbeth, the Whiteferns had been the most notable family in the Tidewater section of Virginia, giving the country senators and even vice presidents. But over time, we had fallen out of favor, not just with the villagers but also with everyone in the surrounding suburbs. We were no longer as honored or, in Aunt Ellsbeth’s words, “even respected.”

Whitefern village, where the supermarket was located, was fifteen miles from our house. It was also where I had gone to school. I had not kept in contact with any of my schoolmates. None had ever paid a visit to my home. But I did have fond memories of my teachers.

Heads turned our way when we got out of Mrs. Matthews’s car and started for the supermarket.

“Walk slower,” she ordered under her breath. “Don’t make it seem so easy.”

I thought back to what my mother had been like when she was pregnant with Sylvia and tried to emulate her stride, putting my hand on my lower back from time to time after we got a cart and began to go down the aisles. If I chose something I liked, Mrs. Matthews would give me a sideways glance and sometimes shake her head no. I felt like a little girl with no power to choose anything.

Rounding the turn toward the meat counter, we saw Mrs. Haider, the retired principal of Whitefern High School. Mrs. Matthews didn’t think anything of it. In fact, she looked like she didn’t even want to say hello to her, but I stopped immediately.

“Oh, Audrina, how are you?” Mrs. Haider asked, acting as if I’d startled her. Mrs. Matthews paused and looked back at me, her eyes full of warnings. “I heard you were pregnant.”

“I’m getting along, but it’s been a little difficult.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know Mrs. Matthews?” I asked, feeling awkward now, with her just standing there and Mrs. Haider wondering why.

“Yes, I believe so. You had a son who attended Whitefern. Philip, I believe.”

“Yes,” Mrs. Matthews said.

“And how is he doing?”

“Staying out of trouble,” she replied. It wasn’t an answer, and Mrs. Haider didn’t smile or react in any way. “He’s working for my brother at his paper mill in Richmond,” Mrs. Matthews added.