Butterflies in May Read online

  Later, when I come back, I find Dad in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from our baking session.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “She went out for a while. Are you okay? Your mom told me what happened.”

  I shrug and start to walk away.

  “Allison.”

  “Yes?”

  Dad looks at me for a long moment. “Maybe your mom should have told you sooner, but it was her decision not to. Don’t judge her too harshly.”

  Mom comes home an hour later. I’m in my room upstairs, but I hear my parents talking in low voices downstairs. I’m sure Mom will come up to talk with me, but she doesn’t, which isn’t like her at all. Dad said I was judging her. Maybe I was, but I feel as if she’s lied to me all these years.

  I find Mom in her studio. Her bifocals are sitting low on her nose, the way she wears them when she’s working. When I walk in, she takes off her glasses, and smiles, fatigue in her eyes. “I was about to come looking for you.” Her eyes are red and watery.

  “Mom, I’m sorry. . .”

  She raises her hand. “No, Allison, I’m sorry. I never should have slapped you, and I should have told you sooner about the baby I had. Your dad wanted me to. He felt it would help you deal with things now. I never wanted you to know. . .

  “Everything was so different then,” she continues, a faraway look in her eyes. “It was very hush-hush. Grandma and Grandpa were very religious, and my pregnancy was a disgrace to them. They didn’t want the neighbors to know, so I was sent to a convent that took in unwed mothers. I was three months pregnant.”

  “What happened?”

  She smiles. “I had a little boy. The doctor told me he weighed more than eight pounds. I don’t know who adopted him. I was in a labor room by myself across from the nursery. Right after the baby was born, they took him away. No one thought I should see him. Apparently, that’s how it was done in those days. Fortunately, one nurse came to check on me and really listened to what I was going through. She understood how desperately I needed closure.”

  Mom’s eyes are bordered with tears, but she doesn’t bother to brush them away. “The nurse brought him to me late one night. I held him in my arms for an hour, and I told him goodbye. That was the first and last time I ever saw him. The nurse took a picture of him for me. That’s the picture you saw.”

  I swallow hard. “Who was the father?”

  “A boy on campus I met the first week of school. We dated for a few months, and I was so in love with him. He gave me the locket with the inscription. I thought he loved me, but he walked completely away from it and pretended it never happened.”

  “Does Dad know?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “I don’t know, Ali. I always planned to, but sometimes it’s hard to point out your mistakes to your children. When you and Matt started spending so much time together, I thought of telling you. I know you think I dislike Matt, but I never had a problem with him. It’s just that whenever I saw the two of you together, it reminded me of my own experience, and I was worried you were getting too serious. I didn’t want you to make the same mistake I made.”

  “Did you ever try to find him—your baby, I mean?”

  “No, I didn’t think it would be fair to him or his parents. And now,” she shrugs, “he’s a grown man.”

  It’s hard to imagine. My mother’s not the kind of person who makes mistakes. She’s the woman with the perfectly coiffed hair, and the right lipstick always in place. “There’s one thing I don’t get,” I say.

  “What’s that?” Mom asks.

  “If you had your baby, why were you pushing me to get an abortion?”

  “Temporary insanity, I guess.” She shakes her head. “I don’t completely understand it myself. At the time, I really believed an abortion was the best option for you. Giving up my baby was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t want you to go through that kind of pain. . . Not a day goes by that I don’t think about him.”

  Just then I feel a twinge, and without thinking, I place a hand on my stomach. It feels funny, like having a goldfish swimming inside.

  “Is the baby moving?” Mom asks.

  I take Mom’s hand and rest it on my stomach, and almost immediately there’s another ripple. “Oh, I feel it. He must be very strong,” she says. Then, we’re both laughing and crying all at once.

  “Or she,” I say.

  “Or she,” Mom agrees. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? Being pregnant?”

  “Mom. . .”

  “Hmm?”

  “I want to keep the baby.”

  Mom doesn’t say anything for a long while, and I wonder what she’s thinking. Here she is, the mother I’ve known all my life, with a past she completely hid from me. All of a sudden, she looks different somehow. Suddenly, she isn’t just my mother. She’s this woman who once fell in love with someone who wasn’t my dad.

  “I can’t carry this baby for nine months and then give it up. I just can’t.”

  Mom starts to cry all over again. “Okay,” she says finally. Then she takes me in her arms and holds me, and we cry. It feels good, leaning into her like that. I haven’t felt this close to my mother in a very long time.

  Dad’s in the den working on some papers when I tell him. “It won’t be easy,” he says.

  “I know.”

  “And I want you to continue your education, just as you’ve always planned. Your mom and I will help you as much as we can with the baby, but I don’t want you giving up your dreams.”

  “I won’t—I promise.” I’ve been thinking of taking a year off from school, but I’ll talk to my parents about that later.

  I start to walk away when Dad says, “Allison. . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “You should let the Gardners know. It’s only fair.”

  “Can you do that, Dad?” I can’t.

  He thinks about it a minute. My parents are big on having me handle my own problems. “Sure,” he finally says. “But if you change your mind about keeping the baby, that’s okay, too. Your mom and I will support your decision either way.”

  “Thanks, but I’m not going to change my mind.” My determination is now like a rock inside me.

  That night in my room, I feel the baby move again. “Hey,” I say, resting my hand on my stomach. “We’re going to stick together, okay? So, you’re going to need a name.” I have a list of baby names I like in a journal I’ve kept since elementary school. My favorite girl name used to be Shana—Shana Nicole. But now it’s Willow, which is the name of a character I read about in a book last spring for English class. So maybe I could name her Willow Shana. . . or Willow Nicole. My favorite boy’s name is Jordan, and I’ve always liked Matt’s name, too. I put my hand on my stomach and try it out in my head. Jordan Matthew Ryan.

  “I’m keeping my baby,” I tell Matt the next day when he gets off work. He works every Sunday now from 8:00 until 3:00. Just to be sure I wouldn’t miss him, I came by a half hour early. I never call his house any more when I know his parents are home. Matt sits there, on the hood of his car.

  “Our baby,” he says.

  I look at him and smile. “Whatever. . .” I say. “Anyway, Matt, there are some things I need to—”

  “No, Ali, not ‘whatever,’” Matt says. “I’m sick and tired of this only being about you!”

  “I’m sorry. . .”

  “No, Ali, you’re not sorry. You don’t even get it! I’m the baby’s father, but that doesn’t mean anything to you. You’ve been pushing me away since day one. You don’t tell me you’re pregnant for weeks, then you decide not to have an abortion without consulting me. And now, you’ve come to tell me you’re keeping your baby.” He laughs a short, harsh laugh.

  His cheeks are red, the way they always get when he’s upset, and that muscle in his face is twitching again. “What do you think I am, Ali? Some robot?” There are tears in his eyes, and his voice is thick with emotion. “
I realize I was not exactly the stellar boyfriend at first, okay? I was shocked. And as corny as it sounds, I never thought we would have to deal with this. I thought this couldn’t possibly happen to us. We were invincible. But guess what? It did. And I’m trying to help, but you keep pushing me away.”

  He opens the car door and slams it shut in one swift movement. “You think I don’t care about you or the baby? I love you. Okay? I love you!” he yells. He turns the key in the ignition, revs up the engine, and roars away.

  The stereo is cranked up, and as I make the loop that Monica and I always take, I think about what Matt said. When I get home, I see Matt’s car parked down the street from my house, engine idling. I pull my mom’s car into the garage and run down the street. All I can hear is the crunch of the snow under my feet. He’s standing there, leaning against the hood, waiting for me, his breath coming out in small, white puffs.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “You’re right.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  He reaches out and holds me tight, and for a while, we don’t say anything. I’m thinking about the car accident and how everything in life can change so fast. And how what’s happening to us might not be the most awful thing in the world.

  “I keep thinking of Niles,” I say, “and Tory. . . and. . .”

  “I know,” he says. “I know.” Looking me in the eyes, he says, “We can handle this. . . We can.”

  And suddenly, I feel so calm, so sure—something I haven’t felt for months.

  Chapter 15

  Niles Sherman isn’t at school on Monday, and neither is Nick Pedraza. A major story about the accident was on the front page of the local paper, and everyone is talking about it. Apparently, the street was slick, Niles was driving too fast, and the car spun out of control. It slammed into a light pole, and the back of the car was crushed. Tory died from head injuries, and the other girl, who it turns out was her best friend, died on impact. The accident is still under investigation, though drugs and alcohol were not involved. Niles is in a lot of trouble because he wasn’t supposed to be driving—his license was still under suspension. A candlelight vigil at North View High is going to take place for Tory and Jenna on Wednesday.

  Matt’s late to study hall, so when he sits down, I slip him a note: “How’s Niles?”

  He writes back: “Not good. He’s really taking it hard.”

  Maybe it’s morbid, but I can’t stop thinking of the accident. I keep wondering what they were doing that night. Where were they going? What were they talking about? The paper said they were on their way to get something to eat, but then after study hall, Matt tells me they were really on their way to a party. A friend of Tory was having a big bash at his parents’ house. And the other girl, Jenna Kingsley, didn’t even know Niles and Nick. She’d just met them that night.

  I have an appointment to see Ms. Connor at lunch again. I don’t really feel up to it. At first we talk about the accident—how sad it is and how accidents can happen. I eat seven lemon drops, one after another, biting down hard every time. Then she asks how things are going, as she always does, so I tell her everything—the stuff with my mom, the blowup with Matt, and my decision.

  Ms. Connor considers it all, studying the notepad that rests on her lap, as she usually does while I’m talking, but when I tell her that Mom gave her baby up for adoption, she looks up.

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Well, Grandma and Grandpa made it very hard for her, but there’s this part of me that still thinks it’s wrong to give your baby away.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. . . It’s your baby.”

  “Is it right to keep it if you can’t give it a home or take care of it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Allison, there’s no right or wrong decision. You make the best decision you can at the place where you are. It sounds to me like that’s what your mom did.”

  Maybe Ms. Connor is right. Grandma and Grandpa made it impossible for Mom to keep her baby.

  “Now,” says Ms. Connor, “tell me more about Matt’s reaction to all this.”

  I tell her about our conversation yesterday. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. All this time, I’ve been so busy thinking about how I feel—how Matt couldn’t begin to understand what it’s like to be me. Never once did it occur to me what it must be like to be him.

  “Have you and Matt discussed what responsibilities you will share once the baby arrives?”

  “No. We haven’t. . . uh. . . gotten that far yet.”

  “You’ll need to at some point. It sounds like he wants to be a part of this baby’s life. He’s more than welcome to make an appointment with me, too.” Ms. Connor takes a book off her shelf. “In the meantime, give this to Matt,” she says, handing me a book for teenage fathers. “By the way, have you considered what last name you will give your baby?”

  “Uh. . . not really.” When I was thinking of baby names, I automatically used Ryan as the last name, but I haven’t talked with Matt about it yet, so I’m still not sure.

  “Well, that’s something you may need to check into. I assume that you and the baby will be covered under your parents’ health insurance?”

  “I think so.” Once I made my decision, Dad said he would check on it.

  “You’ll want your mom or dad to look into it. Under some health plans, the baby must have the same last name as its mother to qualify for coverage.”

  Details. Details. Details.

  “Oh, Ali, one more thing. There’s another girl at school who’s pregnant. She’s due in April. I thought maybe you two would like to start meeting here, together, after the holidays.”

  “Sure.” I wonder if she’s talking about Kelly. I wouldn’t mind talking with someone who’s going through the same thing. Besides, it isn’t like it’s a secret any more.

  “I already called the insurance company,” Dad says that night when I ask him about insurance coverage. “You’re covered under my health plan. As far as the baby is concerned, all we have to do is file an affidavit of dependence to add coverage.”

  “What about the baby’s last name? Can it have Matt’s, if that’s what we want?”

  “Yes. The baby can have either our last name or Matt’s. The decision is entirely up to you.”

  On Wednesday, after school, Monica and I are driving around in her car. We have the stereo turned down low so we can talk. We’re discussing the accident again. There was yet another major article about it in the paper, but this time it had a lot of personal stuff about the two girls who died. They were both sixteen-year-old juniors at North View High. Tory, as it turns out, was in a band with her friend Jenna. They both played the guitar and sang. Tory’s mom described her as a “free spirit,” and a friend of Jenna said she was “a musician at heart.”

  We’re heading toward downtown Lakeview when Monica suddenly makes a sharp right, turning onto Lakeview Avenue. “I want to drive by there,” she says. There’s no missing the place where the accident happened.

  Six or seven people are standing beside the light pole. One girl is crying. Balloons and flowers and notes for Tory and Jenna are scattered everywhere. Monica parks the car, and we walk over to the light pole. We just stand there, reading the notes.

  “Sing Forever Jenna.”

  “To Tory, a revolutionary, kick-ass, beautiful person. You will be missed.”

  “To Tory and Jenna: We’ll miss you always!”

  “You know what I keep thinking, Ali?” Monica says when we get back to the car.

  “What?”

  “It could have been me. It could have been me.”

  Niles isn’t in school all week. Everyone’s still talking about the accident, even the teachers. In some ways, everything’s the same. Here I am, going to class, taking notes, eating lunch, as I always do. I even remember to see my guidance counselor about getting out of P.E. next semester. She suggests taking a photography class because I’m planning to study journalism in college. �
��Sure,” I say. Anything has to be better than P.E.

  But in some ways, everything’s different. Between classes, people don’t seem to be laughing as much or messing around in the halls the way they usually do. There’s just a low hum of voices. I write about it in my journal in English class, and as I read it over, I realize that maybe there’s a germ of an idea in it for a column, so I rip it out and stuff it in my pocket.

  Then on Friday, the last day before winter break, Monica gives me a lift home. It’s been snowing all afternoon, and the roads are slick, so Monica drives slower than usual. We see Niles Sherman, walking along the road in the opposite direction.

  Monica notices him first. He’s hunched over, wearing a brown coat that hangs to his knees, but it’s hanging open so you can see his arm in a blue sling. Monica honks the horn to get his attention, then makes a U-turn at the light, so we can give him a lift to wherever he’s headed.

  But by the time she turns the car around, he’s already gone.

  Chapter 16

  On Christmas day, I wear one of the dressier maternity outfits Aunt Laura bought for me when I was in Chicago. It feels strange, like I’m wearing clothes that belong to someone else.

  “You look darling,” Mom says when I come downstairs. I have on the black slacks with a matching top. “Dad’s on the phone with Grandma Jeanne. She wants to say hello to you.”

  I go into the den. Dad told Grandma last week, but I don’t want to talk with her at all. I’m afraid she’s going to start off by saying something like, “So you had SEX!?” Then she’ll follow it up with a lecture about how disappointed she is in me. But it isn’t like that at all.

  “I am so sorry. . .” Grandma says, her voice breaking. “So sorry. . . this is happening to you.” I hear her blow her nose. “I love you, Allison, and I believe in you. We Parker women are strong. You will get through this.”